Odd One Out
by Wisteria Urs
Summary: A Love story involving Draco Malfoy and his childhood friend, Celia Validus. Told from Celia's POV, the story takes us through their tumultuous relationship through the past and present.
1. Chapter 1

~Year: 1997

The purple of the flowers swam in your vision, looking like clouds in the hazy light. The sun beat down on your neck, which was bare, your long hair pulled up, held by a ribbon. You turned over, pressing your face into the earth, the dirt dusting your neck, staining your dress.

"**Celia**!" You hear some **one** shout from behind the tall hedges. "I give up." But you don't reveal yourself. Instead, you attempt to curl up behind a stone statue. The statue changes poses, so that they are hovering over you, casting you in shadow. You press your fist in your mouth to keep from giggling. "Please **Celia**," the voice whines.

You sigh, exasperated, and stand up.

"Ah Ha!" A white haired boy with a pointed, mischievous face peers around from the statue. "I knew it!" He says gleefully. "You loose."

"You said you gave up," you remind him, brushing a loose piece of gravel from your skirt.

He sulks for a minute. "It doesn't matter," he replies moodily, and stomps over to the wishing fountain. You join his side.

"You're a sore loser, Draco." He makes a face, but is quiet. But the game is soon forgotten between the two of you, as five-year olds tend to forget such frivolous things.

"Look at this," he says, pointing to the water. As he does so, it begins to boil, frothing against the side of the marble. "Mum says to control it," he snickers. "She can't stop me."

But when you touch your hand to his shoulder, he stops boiling the water. You sit on the side of the fountain, creating ripples by slowly dipping each of your fingers into the water and wiggling them.

"Do you think we'll go to Hogwarts some day? Really?" You ask.

He frowns. "Why wouldn't we?"

You shrug. "I don't think I'm good at magic."

Draco protests, his grey eyes wide. "No, **Celia**. You're much better than I am. Remember the time you made the branch levitate? And the time you went invisible?"

"But I didn't mean too," you argue, standing up on the ledge of the fountain and walking, your arms outstretched, **one** foot after the other, around the rim, trying not to fall in. "You can control things, make what you want happen at certain times." You dip your foot tentatively in the water, and then kick it up, spraying a flower garden. As you do so, you loose your balance, but before you fall in, some force holds you back. You look over at Draco, who is staring, wide-eyed at you. You realize he's using magic to keep you suspended over the water.

"That's what I mean," you inform him. "You are keeping me up, aren't you?"

He shakes **out** of his concentration. "No," he responds, and with a nod of his head, you fall into the fountain, soaking your dress.

"Draco!" You screech, whipping your hair back from your eyes.

"Maybe I was after all," he says with a smirk. You smack the water with your open palm, soaking him too. He gasps at the contact with the cold water, the laughs, scooping it into his hand and hitting you with it.

"Children!" You hear your mother call. "Draco, **Celia**! Lunch is ready!" And with his help, you climb **out** of the wishing fountain, your dress-sopping wet, and head back into the Malfoy's manor, the best of friends.

~Year: 2009

"She's weird," you hear Pansy Parkinson insist as you exit the train. You head over to a column, you bags and owl cage in tow, and cross your arms, waiting. "Please don't keep her around all summer," you hear her plead.

"You just shut up about it," Draco hisses, glancing at you. "I told you to drop it, nothing's going to change, Pansy."

"Fine," she says, sticking **out** her lower lip. Draco turns to leave.

"Wait!" She yells, looking affronted. "Aren't you going to give me something before you go?"

Draco hastily kisses her cheek. She burns a bright pink, and skips off to another part of the train, searching for her luggage.

"She seems like a winner," you snicker as Draco approaches you.

"She's a prize, alright." He is as red as a beet; you can almost feel his mortification peeling off him in waves. "A prize bit-"

"Draco!" you hear some **one** cry. Narcissa fights her way through the throng of students. She looks beautiful, as always, her posture austere, her eyes pure, her blonde hair softly curling at the small of her back. She hugs her son tightly, and you can feel his embarrassment stronger than before. You start to turn, to give him some privacy, when she suddenly turns to you.

"**Celia**, darling," she whispers. She hugs you tightly. You close your eyes, feeling as if you might cry, when she releases you, her eyes rather wet. "You look so much older. You look like your mother," she adds, turning away. You look at the ground, a lump forming in your throat.

"Why don't we leave?" Draco asks, looking anxious.

"Right," you say hastily, picking up your owl. Draco grabs the rest of your bags, and the two of you follow Narcissa, back into the muggle world.


	2. Chapter 2

~Year: 1999

"Come on, Celia." Your father moves around the enormous table, snapping photographs with his camera. Your mother beams as you study the cake, the color of the night sky, with tiny, moving stars skimming the surface. "Blow out the candles," your father urges.

"I'm hungry," Draco moans from his spot next to you. "Can you just blow out the candles?"

You glare at him, but he smiles sweetly. You look back at your cake.

"Make a wish," your mother instructs you. You take another look at Draco, who's holding his breath in, his face turning red from the strain of it. You unfold a thought, one that's been lurking in the back of your mind. You concentrate on it, then screw up your eyes, and let out all your breath, extinguishing the candles. The thought drifts away from your mind as soon as Draco lets out his breath.

"Finally," he mutters, grabbing one of the candles. He eagerly sucks all the frosting and cake bits off one end. You slap his wrist, kindly though.

"You wait for me," you remind him with a smile.

Narcissa appears in the doorway to your dining room, holding a small, silver box.

"Found it," she says triumphantly. "I think Draco put it in my purse, even though I asked him to carry it."

Draco smirks and shrugs his shoulders. Narcissa affectionately places her hand on his head and hands you the box.

"I'm sorry Lucius couldn't be here," she addresses your parents. "Long day at the…erm...ministry." You don't mind though. Lucius never paid attention to you or Draco. You rip into the package, to find a pristine white box. You open it, curiously.

A pair of earrings sit there, small ones, not dangly ones like your mom has. They're round, and lustrous, the light from the chandelier causing them to sparkle. They're white, almost cream colored.

"They're moonstone," Narcissa says. "Draco helped me pick them out."

"No I didn't," Draco says, going pink in the face. "That's for girls to do." And he turns away from the table, pretending to look at a portrait of your great-great grandfather.

"Say thank you, Celia." Your mother prompts.

"Thank you, Celia," you say with a grin. Draco bursts out laughing.

Your mother clucks her tongue, but Narcissa smiles at you.

"It's fine, Alice, really. Here, let me help you with the butter beers." She and your mother retreat to the kitchen, while your father stares out the window, looking over the landscape of your estate.

"I got you a present," Draco confesses, jumping down from his chair. "A real one, not stupid earrings."

"I like them," you reply, closing the box. He looks pleased, but shrugs his shoulders.

"It's at my house," he tells you, pointing towards the entrance hall.

"Dad?" You call. He turns to look at you, the camera pointed towards the floor. "May Draco and I go to his house for a moment?"

Your father nods and turns his back again. Draco sprints from the dining hall and throws open the heavy, bolted door, you on his heels, the sound of your laced up boots clacking against the marble floor. Once out of your long, imposing, driveway, you and Draco skip down the country road. His manor isn't far, maybe 40 yards. The two of you slip through the rod-iron gate, run through the gardens and into the house.

"Master, lady," the house elf, Dobby says hastily, bowing deeply. Draco glares at him and opens his mouth to say something, but you grab his arm and lead him up the spiral staircase.

"I wish you weren't so mean to him," you admonish. Draco cocks his head to the side, then shakes it, as if he was a dog shaking off water. The two of you wander down the dark-paneled hallway, until Draco stops in front of his door and pushes it open. You cautiously enter his meticulous room, flicking off your shoes as you do so. He runs over to his nightstand and pulls out a jar. When he sees your curious glance, he hides it behind his back.

"I'm not sure you'll like it," he says, biting his lip.

"I will, I promise," you counter. Slowly, he takes the jar out from behind his back. Inside is a fairy. The poor thing is hiding under a leaf Draco had thought to put inside, as well as an acorn and a small stick.

"I found it in the garden," he says happily, holding the jar up to his eyes. The fairy glares fiercely at him and pounds on the side of the jar with her tiny fist. Your heart drops a bit at the sight of the poor, weak little thing trapped in there. But you accept the jar from him anyway.

That night, after your parents tuck you in, you go to your window, which looks over the field out back, the high grasses painted with wildflowers. You take the jar from a shelf you placed it on, and open it, emptying the fairy into the wilderness. It wheels about, mid-flight, and waves at you, it's wings beating the air.

You hesitantly wave back. It flies away into the night, traveling over the meadow. You head back into your bed as it makes a sharp right and enters the Malfoy's garden. It gleefully perches itself on the top of a statue of the Malfoy's ancestor and begins to clean it's wings.

Draco, who's sitting at his window, sees it, but does nothing. He smiles slightly to himself, then scales out of the window, carefully lowering himself onto the roof, settling into a comfortable position.

"Happy Birthday, Celia," he whispers into the night, starring at the stars. When one streaks across the sky, a shooting star, he closes his eyes and makes a wish of his own.

~Year 2009:

That afternoon, after getting off the Hogwarts express, you, Draco and Narcissa return to the Malfoy's home. Narcissa has managed to procure a very large, muggle car, something called a Rolls Royce, which picks you up outside King's Cross-, and begins to drive you to the outskirts of London. You say nothing almost the whole car ride, except for replying to Narcissa's questions: "Did you eat?" "Yes." "How was the ride?" "Okay." "I hope you don't mind, we're having a large crowd over for dinner tonight." "That's fine."

Draco says nothing either, settling against the leather seat, shooting you concerned looks every now and then.

Maybe a half hour later, the car driver makes a right onto the gravel, country road you know all too well. You close your eyes, allowing your vision to go completely black, until you feel the car slow to a stop. Your eyelids blink open, to reveal Malfoy manor, looking as grand as ever, with the crawling ivy obscuring a half of the manor, the gardens greener, more vibrant then ever before. You open the car door and stumble out, your knees weak. The driver hops out after you, hastily picking up the trunks and carrying them outside. Narcissa walks past you quietly. As she does so, she reaches out and pats your cheek softly. Her eyes express sadness, but before you can say a word, she enters the house, her high heels clattering.

"Hey," you hear Draco say quietly. He's next to you, leaning against the car. You lean against it too, looking up at the windows. "I know this is hard."

You don't reply, but look down at your fingernails, ragged from your chewing habit.

"I just wonder," you choke out, tears starting to well in your eyes. "If they felt it, if they even had a chance."

"They didn't," Draco replies. The tears spill over your eyelids, streaming down your face, seeping into your pores, your hair, your neck. Draco pats you softly on the back as you sniffle, looking straight ahead. You wipe your tears on the back of your hand. "No one stood a chance against that madman, Celia. Your parents were extremely clever. I doubt any one could have defended themselves against him any better than you did."

You nod, lacing your fingers together, sighing deeply, attempting to calm down.

"You closed your eyes for the car ride," Draco continues. You don't say a word. "It's not there anymore, you don't have to close your eyes."

"I close my eyes because when I do, I see it there. I see my parents. My old room, everything I owned." You shut up; afraid the tears you're holding back might fall again.

"You can cry in front of me, you know," Draco says quietly, rubbing your back consolingly. "It's not like I've seen you cry before. Many times it was because of something stupid I did." He offers you a smile, and you give him a half smile back.

"Come on," he says, pushing himself off the car. "Let's head inside. I'm pretty sure mum had the cook make those little cakes you like, the ones with the candies on top."

"Draco," you chortle. "Those are the cakes YOU like."

He wrinkles his nose, as if to say _whom Cares? _"Ah, well. You, me. We're practically one in the same."

"Oh shut up," you squeal, punching him in the arm. "You're a right wart, Draco Malfoy."

"You're not much better, Celia Validus," he says, pinching you lightly on your neck, right on a light pink scar. You reach up and brush his hand away, rubbing the scar, as if he had shocked you there. When you drew your hand away, the skin was inflamed, due to his touch.


	3. Chapter 3

~Year: 2001

"Summer has always been my favorite season," Draco remarks, leaning his back against the willow tree and staring up at the sky. Bees lazily hum around you, and you stiffen, afraid of being stung.

"I don't like how hot it gets," you complain, trying to melt into the shade of the tree. You swat a bee away from you, and before it can retaliate, Draco closes his eyes and an invisible protection shield forms around the two of you, blocking the bees from attacking you.

"Thanks," you say gratefully, settling into the dirt.

Draco shrugs, as if to say _it's no big deal_. The he stands up.

"Let's go swimming," he says, looking determined.

"I don't think we can," you reply, standing up too. "My mum and dad aren't home…what if some **one** gets hurt?"

"We're wizards," he reminds you, raising his eyebrows. "What could happen?"

Twenty minutes later, you and Draco are at the edge of your pool. You curl your toes over the edge, contemplating jumping in.

"Come on!" he encourages you, leaping over the side, his skinny little body barely making a wave as it broke the surface of the water. You look hesitantly back at the house, then back at the water, where Draco is splashing around. Suddenly, before you can make **one** move, he seems to seize up.

"**Celia**…help me!" He chokes, putting up a hand for you to grab. You lean **out**, worried, and grab his hand. Then he pulls you into the water with him, drenching you. For a moment, your frozen in the water, admiring the dark blue of it, contrasted against the Spanish tiling of the sides. When you start to feel your lungs protest, you propel yourself up. You feel a sharp pain in your head, and all you see is whiteness. Then everything goes black. You can't see, you can't hear. You try to move your muscles, open your mouth, but you can't. Every single particle in your body is screaming, but there's nothing you can do.

"Come on, **Celia**. Talk to me!" Some one's hysterical voice clouds your head. You try to open your mouth but your jaw is too heavy. "Please **Celia**, please." You can feel anxious hands pressing to the sides of your face, smoothing your hair back. The hands travel down to your neck, where they rest, searching for a pulse. "You can't leave me," the voice says, crying now. "I need you." And a sudden shock of energy runs through the hands. You feel as if your neck is on fire. You sit up and scream, your eyes wide, your skin burning.

"**Celia**, what's wrong?" Draco is sitting by your side, tear tracks running down his face.

"I…" the pain goes away as suddenly as it started. You flex your arms and legs. "What happened?"

"I pulled you in," he says, looking guilty. "And then you rose to the top of the pool…you hit your head. You looked like a dead fish," he adds.

"My neck," you say, rubbing it. "I think you saved my life. You put energy into my jugular vein."

"What's a jugular vein?" Draco says, confused.

"Never mind," you reply, rubbing the spot on your neck. You throw your lithe arms around his neck. "You saved me."

"I did," he says sheepishly, patting you awkwardly on the back.

That night, you sit **out** on your balcony, thinking about today's events. Draco had saved your life, but what else did you expect? He was your best friend. You would have done the same for him in an instant. But something played back about today's event, over and over again in your mind. "Don't leave me, I need you," Draco's voice repeated in your head, like a mantra. This even continued when you went to sleep. At the sound of Draco's voice, or even the mere thought of him, the scar on your neck burned a bright red.

~Year: 2009

"We'll get him this year, I expect," Lucius says at dinner, surrounded by his cronies.

"But how will we find him?" hisses Yaxley, who brutally cuts into his rather bloody steak. "He's avoided capture by the Dark Lord for fifteen, sixteen years now."

"My good man," chuckles **one** of Lucius's colleagues, Travers. "It's simply a matter of being in the right place at the right time."

"Exactly," sneers Lucius. "I think Potter is so attention hungry he might just waltz into the ministry or Hogwarts. The boy has no plan, and nowhere to go. We'll get him."

You look down at your plate and push it away from you, feeling sick to your stomach.

"Are you feeling alright, **Celia**?" Asks Narcissa, noticing your demeanor.

"I feel a bit sick, actually," you reply. "If I may excuse myself, I wish to go to bed."

She nods, and she and Draco watch you get up from the table and leave. You can feel the eyes from the dining room table on your back as you stroll through the door and walk up the stairs to your bedroom.

When you get to this room, (you still have a hard time calling it "yours") you lie down on the plush, goose-filled bed. And you cry. You cry and cry until no tears come. You curl up in a ball, as tight as you can, as if trying to shrink away from the world itself.

The door opens quietly and Draco comes in.

"Hey," he says, rushing to your side. He puts **one** arm around you, and puts the other on top of your head, smoothing your hair. "**Celia**, I am so sorry."

You lean onto his broad, strong shoulder, breathing in his scent of musk, and wipe your eyes on his sweater.

"I keep seeing it, Draco. The light keeps dancing in front of my eyes."

He says nothing, but continues to stroke your hair.

"What if he comes here, next?"

At this, he pulls away from you, cupping his hands around your upper arms.

"That won't happen, **Celia**. My father made sure it won't." You nod and wipe your eyes again. Draco's quiet again, watching you tenderly.

"I really did feel sick," you tell him. "If your mom asks."

"I know." He says, and the two of you fall silent again. With a sigh, you fall back onto the bed and close your eyes. You feel Draco's weight shift, as if he's getting up off the bed.

"No," you protest, grabbing his wrist and opening your eyes. "Stay with me, please."

"Okay," he relents, settling back on the bed. You close your eyes again, and he sits there, and you can tell, just tell, from years of knowing him, that he is watching you, worried about you. You begin to drift off, and your grasp on Draco's wrist loosens. And suddenly, you wake up. In the darkness, you can see the golden hands of the clock against the wall. It's midnight. You look to your side and see Draco, asleep next to you, his long body stretched, his feet dangling off the side of the mattress. His arm is loosely thrown over your hip, his other placed under his head. Afraid to wake him, you lay your head back on your pillow and try to fall asleep again. And then it's morning. You groggily open your eyes and immediately look to your side. Draco is gone, and the sheets he mussed up are neatly tucked away. You turn over and lay your hand against his pillow, feeling where the indent of his head was. The scar on your neck burns pink.


	4. Chapter 4

~Year: 2003

"It's here!" You scream. Your bare feet make squishing noises as they hit the surface of the polished wood floors. You leap down a flight of stairs, landing lightly on the balls of your feet.

"Please Miss **Celia**, be more careful," the house elf, Hooky, holds her frail hand up to her mouth, terrified at your risk. You merely laugh and run by her, holding the piece of parchment in your hand. You push open the heavy, jade encrusted double doors to where your parents are meeting.

"Mum, dad!" You cry **out**, interrupting their conversation. The man they're meeting with is sullen looking, even haughty. He glares at you for a moment before your father turns around in his chair, beaming at you. "I got the Hogwarts letter!" You exclaim.

"That's brilliant, darling," your mother congratulates, reaching **out** to squeeze your hand affectionately. Your father proudly ruffles your hair. The man at the table clears his throat, his deep black eyes burning.

"Right," your father says, turning back to the table. "Regulus, this is our daughter, **Celia**."

"How do you do?" You say politely, but the man doesn't reply, rather, he ignores you, as if you were an irksome fly.

"We're very busy here, **Celia**," your mother declares. "Why don't you head over to the Malfoy's for a while? We'll be over there in an hour or so for dinner anyway." You nod and oblige, running pell-mell **out** through the doors and down the country lane, slipping through a gap in the rod-iron gates of Malfoy Manor. Draco is already outside; as if he knew you were coming.

"Let me see yours," he says bossily, holding **out** his hand for your letter.

"If you let me see yours," you counter, holding **out** your hand. The two of you quickly exchange letters and scan them.

"I can't believe this is happening," you say with a smile, plopping down on the stairs leading up to the entrance.

"I've been waiting for years," Draco agrees, sitting next to you, and gently taking his letter **out** of your hand. He looks down at it, smoothing **out** the wrinkles. "I've wanted a proper wand for ever."

"Mhmm," you agree, folding your own letter and putting it in your pocket. Silence falls between the two of you for a moment, before Draco asks:

"**Celia**, I've been wondering…what if we…. well, I mean…if we don't happen to…" He lapses into silence once more, his pale skin growing slightly pink.

"Get sorted into the same house?" You ask. "I've been wondering the same thing."

"We have to though," he bursts, his voice echoing over the gardens, scaring birds into flight.

"There's no way I would be anywhere but Slytherin," you comfort him, patting him on the arm. "And you're a natural."

"Yeah?" He says, looking slightly more confident. You can tell he's been worrying over the matter.

"Of course," you tell him. "We're much to shrewd to be placed anywhere else. Besides, if I wasn't in slytherin, I think I would leave." He nods in agreement.

"C'mon," he says, getting up off the stair and stretching. "My mum said I could have desert early for getting my letter. She'll have dobby make extra for you, too." And the two of you run inside the manor, your combined excitement causing even the darkest of places to shine with light.

On September 1, you and Draco arrive at the platform together. Your mother suggested the two families carpool, since your muggle car was far too large to carry just **one** family. The Malfoys agreed, and so the two of you nervously made your way to platform 9 ¾, clutching your trunks to your sides.

"We'll write you every week," your mother tells you, weeping loudly. Your dad winks at you and shakes his head and your mother pulls you into an excruciatingly tight hug. You awkwardly pat your mother on the back and catch sight of Draco behind her, consoling his own mother. He rolls his eyes when you two make eye contact, and you giggle.

"Mum, I have to go," you whine, pulling away from her and picking up your owl.

"Come on, sport," your father says, giving you a **one**-armed hug, and then placing your trunk on the train.

"Be good, Draco." Narcissa loudly commands as the two of you head into a compartment. Draco hurriedly shuts the window.

"She makes too much racket," he says, but looks fondly at his mother, then waves to his father.

"We're finally going," you squeal as the train whistles, steam beginning to file **out** from the tracks. The two of you wave once more to your parents, the slide into your seats, watching the London station glide away, as the two of you head to Hogwarts.

~Year: 2009

When you dream, you wake up almost instantly. There's nothing pleasant to dream of, and so, when you begin to drift off to sleep, you shake yourself awake, determined not to see the yellow and gold dance across your mind. The only time you didn't dream was when Draco was lying next to you. But you refuse to let yourself succumb to being needy. And so, rather than ask your best friend to lie by your side every night, you instead sit in the uncomfortable, ancient chair in your room, watching the sun cast shadows against the wall as it rises.

Draco can tell you aren't sleeping any more.

"You look exhausted," he says pointedly over breakfast **one** day, edging a pot of coffee nearer to you. You silently pour yourself a cup, and then raise your eyebrows at him.

"That's rude," you tease, causing him to blush.

"Well, you have dark circles under your eyes," he concludes, pushing away his plate. "Not to mention I can't hear your snores any more…" You shake your head and place your coffee to the side.

You begin to spend your summer as some **one** jaded. You rarely leave the house, preferring to read or take walks in the Malfoy's garden. Draco pleads with you to come outside of the Manor, but at times, you downright refuse.

However, **one** day, you change your mind.

"I'm going into London today," he announces **one** afternoon, bursting into the sitting room, where you are making a hiccupping solution, to cure your unsettled stomach. He doesn't invite you to come along, knowing full well that you won't accept. It's then that you decide to surprise him.

"I'm coming too," you reply, spooning the solution into a vial and corking it. You swirl it back and forth, then swallow it down.

"Why are you coming?" Draco asks, almost rudely.

"It's your birthday next week," you say with a smile. "I can't let you go without a present, now can I? What kind of friend would I be?"

He smiles back at you, a genuine smile, not the smirk he displays so often.

"Look in Borgin and Burkes," he says, helping you clean the potions ingredients off the table.

"I always do," you admonish, punching him lightly on the arm. "I give the best gifts, you know that." And you walk from the room, humming slightly as you place the materials back in a cupboard.

"Yeah," Draco agrees quietly. "You do."


	5. Chapter 5

~Year: 2003

"Slytherin!" The hat roars. You open your eyes to see Draco, smirking. He gets off the stool and hurries down the stairs to the Slytherin table, which is roaring with applause. You clap loudly, causing startled glances to be directed at you from the rest of the first years. You ignore them and seek eye contact with Draco, who winks at you.

"Pansy Parkinson!" Professor McGonagall cries, holding the hat in the air. You watch her ascend the platform, your heart pumping rapidly. You grasp your hands tightly together as yet another person is sorted into Slytherin. "Harry Potter!" She yells next. You turn to look at Draco, who is chatting animatedly with the Slytherins. "**Celia** Validus," she shouts next. You don't notice her call for a moment, still staring at Draco. He looks at you and waves, mouthing: "go."

You shake yourself **out** of your stupor and run up the steps towards the hat, laughter following you. McGonagall places the hat on your head and you screw up your eyes.

"Hmmm," it seems to whisper inside your head. "Talent…such intelligence, I see. A clear candidate for Ravenclaw. And a good heart, yes, that too. Not the bravest I see…but Gryffindor could help you become brave, I see that…" But even as it says all this, Draco's face floats to the front of your mind. "Ah, Mr. Malfoy," it says loudly. "So a loyal friend as well…but would you sacrifice everything to be so loyal?" You don't think, but it delves deeper into your brain. "Hm…well, I see. Prudent, but loyal. All right…you better be a…. Slytherin!" You grin as the hat is lifted off your head. You see Draco clapping wildly as you approach the table. You take a seat next to him.

"I told you," you murmur as you take a seat next to him. "We belong here."

"We belong together," he corrects, leaning back in his seat as some **one** drifts off to join the Ravenclaw table. You study his profile in wonder. _Was it possible that Draco knew as much as the Sorting Hat, if not more, about the two of you?_ But before you can think for **one** more second, food begins to appear on the tables, platters of food weighing down the table.

"Finally. I've been waiting for this." Draco says, lunging for a sandwich. A very high-pitched peal of laughter occurs from across the table. Pansy Parkinson is batting her eyes at Draco, who is looking rather repulsed. You feel his repulsion bubble up in your own emotions, and to avoid any further discomfort, hastily take a sip of pumpkin juice, slopping it down the front of your robes.

"I'm Pansy," she persists, holding her hand **out** to Draco.

"Malfoy," he says curtly, shaking it lightly and returning to his food.

"And you are?" She turns to you, a look of disdain on her face.

"**Celia**," you introduce yourself, shaking her hand quickly, and then turn back to your food.

"You're not Lucius Malfoy's son, are you?" Pansy returns her attention to Draco.

"Well I'm not likely to tell you, am I?" He counters rudely. You pinch him on the leg, quite hard, for his manners. He pinches you back before mumbling: "Yeah, I am." But his outburst seems to have turned Pansy off, she turns to converse with Millicent Bulstrode instead.

"I will murder some **one** if I have to put up with her for the rest of the year," Malfoy says as the two of you head down to the dungeons that night. "That girl is mental."

"She just likes you is all," you tease, causing him to blush.

"Yeah, well she's bloody obvious about it, isn't she?" Draco turns to see if she's approaching the two of you. "Did you see when she grabbed my hand at the table? I've only met her for the past hour, for chrissake."

"If it helps," you say slowly. "I think she'll get over you quickly."

Draco stops in his tracks, looking rather offended.

"Why's that?"

"She doesn't know you like I do," you explain. "She doesn't know that you hate classical music or that you're afraid of spiders or that you could cast a stunning spell by age 10…"

"What does that have to do with any of it?" Draco looks befuddled.

"Nothing," you sigh, turning your back on him and heading deeper into the dungeons. "I just mean that she'll get over it, once she gets to know you better."

"Well that's a blow to the ego," Draco says, but he returns to your side, smiling. "I suppose it's just some silly school girl crush."

"Exactly," you say with a nod of your head. And as you go to bed that night, lulled slightly by the sound of Pansy's snores from across the room, you laugh a bit at her behavior. After all, as you yourself had pointed **out**, she didn't know Draco. She didn't know that when he was worried, his hairline became flushed. Or the fact that he had only cried once during your childhood, when he fell off his toy broom and broke his nose. She never spent her days with him, never spent her childhood growing up with him. She didn't know how protective or overbearing he could be, or how sweet and gentle he could be. She didn't know his deepest nature. All she could base her feelings on was the line of his pointed chin, his sleek blonde hair, and his blue eyes, which had bursts of yellow around the center. You wondered, at what point, why her feelings bothered you as much as they did. It was a schoolgirl crush, you told yourself, and buried your head in the soft, warm sheets of your bed, shutting your eyes as if you could shut **out** the image of your settings.

~Year: 2009

"And this?" You pick up a slightly dusty silver sphere. It whirls to life, a sharp point emerging from the middle of the small circle.

"A compass, Madam." Borgin, the hunched over little salesman, hurried forward. "Able to point you to your heart's desire."

"He won't be needing that," you muse, setting it aside. You sidle past a sparkling, opal necklace, and a leering, pulsating mask. A plain, black box sits on a shelf, quite alone.

"What is this box?" You demand of Borgin, examining it.

"It is a box adapted to the beholder. It is cursed, you see. Only the **one** that owns it will be able to open it. If others attempt, well, physical damage will be done."

"Perfect," you say, blushing slightly. "I know Draco will love it."

"Oh ho, Mr. Malfoy," Borgin says, plucking it from the shelf and bringing it up to the counter, where he rings it up. "He was just in here the other day."

"The older?" You inquire, peering through a glass case at the various jewelry.

"No, the younger, Madam." You look up at him.

"What for?" You query, curious.

"I'm not at liberty to say, Madam Validus." Borgin hands you a wrapped package, then bows deeply. You throw down a galleon on the counter and sweep **out** of the shop. Draco is leaning against the wall opposite of the shop, absent-mindedly massaging his left forearm.

"Ready? Might we go home now?" He pleads.

"You're the **one** who wanted to come into London," you remind him, clutching the package tightly. You slip it into your bag before he can examine it any further.

"Find me anything nice?"

"I always do," you repeat. "Borgin told me that you had been in there the other day."

Malfoy freezes, and rubs his arm again, a trademark move for his discomfort.

"What did he say?" Draco sounds, if anything, angered.

"He didn't," you retort, struck by his **odd** behavior. "What's wrong with you? Why are you acting funny?"

"I…I was looking for things for my birthday. I didn't want you to get something I had chosen for my mum to get me." He looks furtive as he spits **out** this excuse, and your raise your eyebrows.

"Draco," you say, trying to gain his eye contact. "What's the matter with you? I can tell something is wrong."

"I just feel sick is all," he mutters, suddenly looking paler than usual. "Why don't we get home soon? Mum probably has some big dinner party planned, the usual hoo-ha with the unnecessary family attendance."

"Right," you say, still worried. But you forget his attitude when the two of you arrive back at the manor-Pansy Parkinson is standing in the foyer, looking absolutely disgusting in a frilly pink dress, which is at least two sizes too small. She looks like a pig, in your opinion, but you keep your mouth shut as you pass her, heading into the kitchen to fill a glass of water.

"What are you doing here?" You hear Draco ask, sounding surprised, and not pleased.

"It's your birthday, silly. You didn't think I would miss it, did you?" Pansy squeaks **out** her excitement, and you hear the sound of lips against skin, as if she had leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek.

"Didn't my mother ask you to come to the dinner tonight?" Draco asks, sounding exasperated.

"Of course, but I wanted to get here early. So I could have you all to my self." You hear Pansy's voice rise exponentially on the last few words. You throw your empty glass into the sink so hard that it shatters.

"Reparo," you say shakily, darting **out** of the kitchen, your wand clutched in your hand.

"**Celia**," Draco calls as you begin to climb the stairs. "Where are you going? Won't you stay?" His eyes are wide as he says this, and when Pansy isn't looking, he widens them further, as if to say: _save me._

"I don't think so…I'm quite tired…and I know when my presence isn't welcome." You smile at him and head to your room. You throw your purse into the corner, where it lands with a dull thunk. You sit on your bed, not truly intending to sleep, but rather, rest your body for a while. You hear Pansy let **out** a shrill laugh from floor below, and you furrow your brow. You explore the same subject you did on your first night at Hogwarts, but this time, you cannot say Pansy does not know Draco. Pansy knows Draco, not as you do, of course, but as the other students do. As his witty and rather fearsome self, intimidating and handsome. You look down at your hands, and feel a lump in your throat. You don't know why you feel so maddened by the thought of Draco and Pansy together. It's not that you would like Draco…no, that would be too weird. It's that you hate Pansy, and you have his best interests at heart. You don't want to see him with an absolute horror like her. But even as you tell yourself, you imagine your self with Draco. Memories of your time spent together flashes across your eyes, the two of you laughing together, taking lessons together, exploring Hogwarts and the your home estate together, playing games when the two of you were younger. But you push the thoughts from your mind, once again_. You are his friend, and you must support him in his decisions, even if they are awful_, you tack on bitterly.

Sure enough, as Draco had predicted, Narcissa planned a dinner for his birthday. His aunt and uncles from both sides had traveled to be there, excluding Narcissa's youngest sister, who was rather banned from the family. Lucius's ancient mother had even come.

"You look lovely, **Celia**," she said, embracing you. She pulls back, taking you in with her wizened eyes. "So much like your mother. Now where is she? I haven't seen her in ages…and come to think of it, I haven't seen your father in a while either."

"Come on, mother," Lucius says hastily, catching the look on your face. "Sit down please, so Draco can open his gifts."

Draco sits at the head of the table, a pile of gifts before him. Pansy sits by him, clutching his arm tightly as you take your seat across from him.

"Open mine first," she simpers, pushing forward a square, blue package, quite obviously a book. You bite your lips and smile to yourself. Draco hates to read. This is obviously something only you, a true friend, would know about him.


	6. Chapter 6

~Year: 2004

"We go back to Hogwarts in 9 days," you say dreamily, leaning across the fence. You remove your wand from your pocket and lazily drift it through the air, causing little disturbances.

"I would rather not," Draco replies from his spot on the ground. "I really don't want to see any one from that wretched place anyway."

"What about Crabbe, and Goyle?" You ask. "And what about Pansy?"

He blushes. "She's not as bad as before, really."

"I know," you say, sinking down next to him, stretching your tan legs out in front of you, strongly contrasting with his much paler ones. "She's not as obnoxious as before." Draco nods his head in agreement. You slither down further on the ground, laying your head in the dirt. You notice a long, thin, pink scar down the side of Draco's leg, and cautiously reach out to touch it. He starts when your finger makes contact with his skin, then relaxes.

"What happened?" You ask, tracing the length of it.

"Bellatrix," he says shortly, rubbing it, as though stung. "Didn't move out of her way fast enough."

"She's horrible," you lament.

"She's not," Draco corrects. "I just…well…I was in the way, listening to things I shoudn't have."

"What do you mean?" You ask, sitting up.

"There's a man, a friend of our parents…they seem to think he's gone bad or something. You know Regulus, don't you?"

"I met him once," you say, recalling the odd experience. "They think he's gone funny, do they?"

He nods, and then adjusts his leg, so the scar is hidden.

"Come on," you say, sensing his discomfort. "We ought to have our parents take us to Diagon Alley…I'll be needing those books as soon as possible. I have to study, if I ever expect to catch up with you."

"You will need more than a book to catch up with me," Draco says with a smirk, leaping to his feet. You laugh.

"I doubt that. Your maturity outstrips that of maybe a two year old." You have been staring out at the field behind your house as you say this, and when you look back at Draco, the wind ruffles his blonde hair slightly, and his eyes seem to deepen in color. You lean in slightly toward him, breathing in the smell of him, the rich peppermint of his breath, the scent of his conditioner.

"What are you doing?" He says, looking into your face, alarmed.

"I…" You lean back, shocked at your own actions. "I don't know."

"You're barking," he grins. And he turns his back on you, running through the field of the tall grasses, which are nearly as golden as his hair.

~Year: 2009

"Two birthdays in two weeks," Narcissa says, smiling slightly at you from across the table. "Like peas in a pod."

"Ever since they were born," Lucius agrees, cutting into your birthday cake.

Draco says nothing, but studies you as you eat your piece of cake. The rest of the table is quiet as well, until Narcissa says: "Can I get any one a drink?" Bellatrix, as well as the rest of the Malfoy's colleagues, chime in at once, striking up a conversation.

"It is good to see you're doing well, Celia." Bellatrix inclines her head to you.

"And many happy returns, my dear!" Travers beams at you, taking a swig of mulled wine.

Narcissa hands you a wrapped package discreetly. She leans down to whisper in your ear:

"This was your mother's dear. If you wish to open it privately, I understand." You nod and pocket the package. "She would be so proud of you." And Narcissa hugs your shoulders tightly, before clacking down the length of the table, to deliver a pint of ale to Professor Snape, who looks sullen as usual.

"Speaking of which…" Lucius overhears her remark and stands up. "I would like to say something. I've known Celia here for her whole life, ever since she was born. She and Draco have grown up together, the best of friends." Draco and you smile at each other. "They remind me so much of her parents, Alice and Ethan. They were the brightest, the best…" his voice wavers a bit. "To Celia, the spitting image of her parents, the product of their friendship, their love, the strongest bond I will know."

"To Celia," the table echoes, raising their glasses.

"Celia," Draco whispers, holding his glass in the air. You swallow back your tears and nod, acknowledging the toast, accepting it. Once every one has returned to their drinks, conversations, and food, you quietly slip out the front doors of the manor. You walk into the dimly lit gardens and take refuge behind a flutterby bush, settling down on a stone bench. You take the package out of your pocket and rip off the wrapping, where it falls to your feet. In your hand lies a beautiful jade clip, carved intracntly. You realize it as a match to Narcissa's, the clip your mother wore in her wedding to your father. The tears you held back begin to fall, but you wipe them hastily away when you hear the crunch of gravel, some one is coming towards you.

"How many times do I need to tell you," a voice rings out. "I've seen you cry, Celia, there's no reason to stop."

"I hate it though," you reason, wiping the last tear away. He sits next to you, then notices the clip.

"Ah," he says quietly. "May I?" He holds out his hand, his palm face up. Without looking at him, you place the clip in his outstretched palm. Wordlessly, he pushes back your long, blonde hair that covers your face, then sets the clip in place, gathering your hair back from your eyes.

"Thank you," you tell him, grabbing onto his forearm. He covers his hand with yours briefly, then retracts his hand.

"You're wearing the earrings I gave you," he says, noticing the precious gems in your ears. "Or rather, the ones my mother."

"The moonstone ones, yes." You look at him, entranced by those blue eyes, as always. "I'm surprised you remember."

"I remember a lot," Draco says, locking eyes with you. "Maybe too much."

"What's that mean?" You ask. But Draco doesn't answer. Instead, he presses his lips lightly to yours. You gasp a little at the contact, it feels as if a electric current has run through your fused lips. He slides one hand up to the back of your neck, supporting it, and you close your eyes. Without thinking about it, you place your hands on his shoulders, leaning in closer to him.

"Celia," he breathes, tearing away. He rubs a strand of your hair in between his fingertips, brushes the bottom of your lip with the back of his hand.

"Oh my god," you say, realizing what you have done.

"What?" He asks, leaning in towards you again.

"No," you say, pulling away.

"No?" He freezes, awkwardly stretched out in mid air, his lips just centimeters in midair.

"No, no, a thousand times no." You jump to your feet, grabbing the wrapping from the ground. "You're my best friend, Draco."

"Exactly," he says, flushing, and jumping to his feet as well. "I know you too well, Celia. You think I don't know how you feel about me?"

"Obviously not," you retort, walking away from him. "If you had known how I feel about you, this little incident never would have happened."


	7. Chapter 7

~Year: 2004

"Why aren't you going home for Christmas, Draco?" Pansy asks over dinner, the night before your winter holidays start.

"I have things I need to do here," Draco says mysteriously, playing with a small fake wand, which bursts into a flaming feather at his touch. "What a bust," he remarks, throwing it into the Slytherin fireplace. You nestle down further into the green leather couch, trying to focus on your potions homework, but Pansy makes it hard to concentrate, as she is sitting on the arm of the sofa, her long brown hair cascading over your parchment.

"I think I'm going to go to bed," you say, getting up, wiping your hands free of ink.

"I'll save you a seat on the train," Pansy tells you.

"She's not going on the train," Draco pipes up. Pansy turns to you, her eyebrows raised.

You nod, clutching your books to your chest.

"Draco's right. My family has gone to see my aunt, she lives in the South of France. I'm to stay here."

Pansy sniffs, as if you have said something offensive, then turns back to Draco, who is staring into the flames, his hands balanced on his knees.

The next morning, you're awakened by some one whispering your name.

"Celia, wake up." Some one pokes you roughly on the shoulder. You moan and bury your face into the pillows, flipping them over to the cool side of the linen. "Come on, Celia," the person whines. Still in a dream-like state, you open your eyes to see Draco sitting on the edge of your bed, leaning over you, his face inches from yours. You reach up and slap him. He recoils, shocked.

"What was that for?" He asks, rubbing the pink spot on his cheek.

"You know I don't like people in such a close proximity to me," you reply, sitting up. "How did you get in here anyway? It's not allowed."

Draco grins at your peevish attitude. "I opened the door, stupid. Are you getting up or not? I need help with my charms homework."

"It's the break, Draco." You attempt to snuggle back down into your bed, but he grabs your hands and pulls you right off the mattress.

"Then we'll go outside," he persists. "Come on."

"Oh, I don't know," you say.

"It's not like the monster is going to get us," he taunts. "That Justin kid was petrified, I know you're scared."

"I am not," you say, offended. "Get out, let me get dressed. And then I will go outside with you." Draco shoots you another knowing smile, and a wicked one at that, before leaving the room. The two of you spend the day outside, playing in the snow, occasionally ducking back in to get warm, and then running back outside to frolick in the light dusting of powder. But around six o clock, the two of you collapse in the snow, exhausted. You point to the expansive, graying sky.

"It's weird," you begin. "To think that people see the same sky as us."

"No it's not," Draco retorts. "I see the same sky you do when we're at home."

"But I mean people all across the way. They see the same gray we see now."

"I don't think so," Draco says slowly. "To me, every one sees something differently then how another sees it. Like I see you as a really ugly friend, but some might see you as hideous."

"Take that back, Draco," you squeal, throwing a pile of snow on his pale face.

"Fine," he says, smirking. "But only because you made me." You punch him in the arm and he relents. "Fine! I give up. I suppose some people might find you pretty. Some people."

"Some people…like who?" You ask, drawing your initials in the snow.

"I don't know," Draco replies, looking red. "Don't ask me. That's why I didn't name any names." He is becoming more and more flustered, turning more crimson every second.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" You say with a laugh, half-joking.

"Yes," he says quickly, then returns to making a snowball. You stop laughing immediately. He rolls his eyes, his face still red. "I'm joking, Celia. No need to get all weird." You force a laugh. You're really not sure why you feel so uncomfortable at his words. Is it the subject matter of the words, or the fact that Draco spoke them?

~Year: 2009

You run back to your room, pushing past the bewildered guests and heading up the stairs to your bedroom.

"Celia?" Narcissa calls out after you, but you don't reply. You open the door to your room and slam it behind you, locking it. You lean your back against it, your heart racing, and sink to the floor.

_What in the hell just happened?_

You yank out the clip Draco had so sweetly placed in your hair and toss it on to your bed, then draw your knees up to your chest. You can still feel the taste of Draco on your lips, and you wipe them, as if trying to rid them of poison. A hollow rapping sound rings out from behind you; some one is knocking on your door.

"Celia," Draco pleads. "Open the door, please." You don't reply, except for attempting to open your mouth. A slight choking sound comes out. "I don't want to have to hex it open," he says, his voice firm.

"Don't you dare, Draco Malfoy," you say angrily, standing up and swinging the door open. "You're a twat." Draco is standing in the doorway, his wand raised. He looks mildly surprised by the fact that you opened the door, but changes his expression, coolly pocketing his wand.

"We need to talk," he says, strolling over the threshold and closing the door quietly behind him. You walk a few steps and perch yourself on the window sill, crossing your arms. You raise one eyebrow, an invitation for him to grovel.

"Go ahead," you say snottily. "Talk, Draco. No, better yet, explain. I would very much like to know why on earth I was just kissed by my best friend, who, by the way, has a girlfriend who loves him very, very much."

"Pansy isn't involved in this," he hisses, running a hand through his hair. "Like I said, Celia, I know you well. I know everything about you. Including how you feel about me."

"You are wrong!" You stand up and plant your hands on your hips, stomping on the ground.

"No, I'm not." Draco briskly crosses the room towards you and clamps his hands around your upper arms, steeling your arms to your sides.

"Let go," you say through clenched teeth, struggling.

"No," he says simply. "Listen, I don't know what came over me, and for that, I apologize. But I know you felt something. I did, and I know you well enough to tell that you felt something too."

"No," you say, shaking your head. You find yourself looking over his features, ravishing in them, like your looking upon a god.

"Okay," he says, releasing you. "That's all I need to hear." But you find yourself leaning in towards him again, and before you know it, he's kissing you again, his arms wrapped around you, his lips moving softly against yours. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back, closing your eyes to the world and the scared thoughts fluttering about your mind. You open your mouth slightly and he licks the bottom of your lip hungrily.

"Oh jesus," you say, leaping away, holding your hand to your lips.

"What was that?" He asks, not really to you, but just in general.

"A mistake," you say aloud. The scar on your neck is burning, and you slap your hand over it, hiding it from his view.

"Yeah," he says quietly, piercing you with those eyes. "You're right."

"It was weird," you say, nodding your head.

"So weird," he agrees. "You're basically my sister."

"And you're almost my brother," you counter. The two of you stand in awkward silence.

"It meant nothing," he says, beginning to back out the door.

"Meaningless," you chime in. "We're just friends."

His expression goes a bit sour at the word, but he hides it well. He clears his throat.

"We'll always be just friends," he agrees, and shuts the door behind him. You run to the door and lock it behind him. You press your hands to your lips, and can still feel his traces lingering. You crawl into your bed, still fully clothed, and blankly sit there, replaying tonight's events over and over in your mind.

Meanwhile, down the hall, Draco is getting dressed for bed. He slips on a plain, white T-shirt and sinks into a grand armchair, which faces a wide window. Draco runs a hand over a mark on his left arm.

"Friends." He mutters. He nods, then closes his hand over the mark. "I can't…we'll have to be." He tangles his fingers in his hair, almost pulling strands out. He sinks to his knees, looking into the light of the moon. "God," he whispers hoarsely. "For her protection, I will be her friend. But she doesn't know, she doesn't feel like I do." He releases his hair, which sticks up, his face is glazed with a thin sheet of sweat-he looks mad. "She can't know." He stands up. "I have to do everything in my power to stay away from her."


	8. Chapter 8

~Year: 2005

"Thirteen already," Narcissa remarked with a shake of her head.

"Not yet," Draco replied grumpily. You, Draco, your mother and his sat side by side in a car going to London.

"Tomorrow," Narcissa beamed. She kissed her son's cheek and Draco squirmed, his face turning red.

"Mum!" He protests, rubbing his cheek. You smirk and kick him in the leg. His embarrassment is your revenge for Draco throwing maple syrup in your hair over breakfast. He rubs the spot on his leg, and then smirks at you, wrinkling his nose right back.

"Now you two know where you're headed?" Your mother straightens your robes and smoothes your hair.

"Borgin and Burkes," you reply. "And then we can go to Diagon Alley, if we wish too."

"Good girl," Narcissa and your mother say approvingly. "And Draco," Narcissa adds. "No sneaking off. I mean it. I don't want to find you half way down in Knockturn Alley, it's a dodgy place." Draco tosses his head and looks out the window.

"I'm thirteen," he mutters.

"Not yet," you correct, sticking out your tongue in the most mature manner.

The car pulls up outside the Leaky Cauldron.

"We'll be inside, getting a drink," Narcissa informs the two of you, skirting a group of tourist muggles. "Draco, darling, put anything you like on hold."

"Same, Celia," your mother instructs, pushing open the door. Draco and you run past the tables of witches and wizards, ignoring the bartender, Tom, and run out behind the little restraunt.

"Ugh," you say, shivering, as Draco taps a brick in the wall with his wand. "I hate that place. It gives me the creeps."

"Me too," he agrees. "I always get the feeling that something happened to me there, but I can't place it."

"I feel the same," you say, puzzled, as the bricks in the wall begin to wiggle, pulling away from the center, leaving a gap. The two of you climb through it and are immediately subjected to the madness that is Diagon Alley. People your age are running wild through the streets, examining the shop displays of brooms, robes, and new supplies for school.

"Look," one round, rather annoying hufflepuff squeals to no one in particular. He points to a broomstick in a window. "It's a firebolt."

"Wow," Draco says, pressing his face to the glass. The broom is gorgeous, handsomely polished, and sleek.

"Move," you command Draco, and he pushes the hufflepuff out of the way. The two of you stand, in awe, of the broomstick.

"I want that," he tells you.

"Tell your mum when we're done," you reply. But when he turns away, you find the price tag. _Price available upon request._

"Damn," you mutter. You had planned to buy it for Draco, but now your mum would have to chip in, too.

"Your swore!" Draco says gleefully, hearing your exclamation. "You never swear."

"I just don't in front of you," you reply. "Come on," you grab his hand and begin to run through the large crowd, buffeting people from your way. The two of you round a corner, ending up in Diagon Alley. You cautiously take a step back, but Draco pulls you forward, your hand still grasped in his.

"Come on, Celia. It's okay," he coaxes you down the mossy, tunnel-like alley. The two of you turn another corner and almost run head long into a hunched over witch. She's shaking, as if cold, even though the day is warm. Her breath comes out in short intervals, as if she's struggling for air. She almost doesn't notice you or Draco, until Draco politely says:

"Excuse me," as he tries to wedge his way by.

She suddenly gasps. She shoots her hands out and takes a firm hold of your shoulders. Terrified, you try to struggle away.

"Hey, let her go," Draco protests loudly, trying to pry her mottled, long-nailed hands away from you. She examines your face, her one blue eye quivering in the socket, while her other green eye stares directly at you.

"It's come true," she hisses, her eyes beginning to roll into the back of her head. Draco pulls out her wand, and she releases you. You whimper and duck behind him, and he keeps his wand trained on the woman.

"Two nights in June, two babies were born,

to families who's loyalties were sworn

to the Lord of all that is cruel.

These babies would unknowingly fuel

their ultimate demise

as they in age did rise.

Friends so close,

but in love would oppose.

Until their love would be true,

these children did their own future skew.

Death will befall those destined for love,

if their emotions they continue to shove."

The woman pointed at you with a oddly disjointed finger, then limped away.

"What in the hell was that?" Draco asked, turning to you. "Are you alright?"

"That was weird," you managed to say. "Draco, I think she just repeated a prophecy."

"Maybe," he says thoughtfully. "She was crazy, though, Celia. I don't know what she was talking about."

"You're right," you say, shrugging off the encounter. "Come on, let's go to Borgin and Burkes." Draco and you walk down the rod-iron stairwell into the store. You look behind you, but don't see the woman. You have to wonder why she would repeat that prophecy in front of you and Draco? It had to do with love, and after all, you didn't love Draco. You loved him like a brother, and your pretty sure that is not the kind of love she meant. But even as you told yourself all of this, you couldn't help but remember when she pointed at you. You sidled closer to Draco, your best friend, reveling in his protection.

~Year: 2009

The incident on your birthday made for some awkward conversations the next few days. However, it was mostly on your part. Draco seemed to be acting, as he always did, like your best friend. He was completely normal. Meanwhile, every time you saw him, you could almost _feel_ his arm around your waist, his hand in your hair, his lips on yours. And then he would greet you, and you would get flustered and say something like: "Too strong," referring, of course, to the arm around you imagined around waist.

But after three weeks since your birthday had passed, nearing the last week in July, things were completely back to normal. You didn't play over the scene of your birthday night in your head. You couldn't even imagine the feeling of his lips against yours, and for this, you were glad. You and Draco had spent the summer lazing around like usual, in his gardens, down in a nearby village, out in London, and there was absolutely no tension.

You walk into the kitchen one day, when it's nearly noon, to find Draco, sitting at the table, wearing pajamas still.

"What are you doing?" You laugh. You tighten the string around your bathrobe.

"I just got up," he mutters, holding his head in his hands. "I was up late."

"I thought you would be," you nod perceptively. "I could hear Bellatrix last night, talking to your parents."

"What did you hear?" He asks, seizing up.

"Nothing," you reply. "I just meant I could hear her voice. She's loud."

He nods, and returns to his cup of tea. You don't move for a second, watching him rub his eyes, exhausted.

"I'm going for a swim, if you need to find me." He nods, and you continue on your way out of the manor. You run out into the sunshine and onto the pool deck, feeling the warm tiles under your feet. You removes your bathrobe, adjust your bathing suit top and gracefully dive in the water. When you emerge, you don't see Draco, looking out the kitchen window, down at you. You begin to swim laps, and Draco leaves the room. Minutes later, you hear some one call your name.

"Celia!" You choke on some water, and then look up. Draco, smiling, pushes open the gate to the swimming area. He's wearing a full set of robes.

"What are you wearing?" You say with a laugh. "It's got to be almost one hundred degrees outside. He shrugs.

"I am going to swim," he says with a grin. You turn your back as he pulls off his robes.

"I'm not naked, you can look," he says. You shake your head, laughing. He jumps in the pool, splattering you with water. "I know you wanted to look," he teases, as you begin to climb onto a floating chair.

"You got me," you say sarcastically. You stretch out on the floating chair, and look at him. Your stomach lurches. His white skin practically reflects the sun, but when you squint, you can see his well-developed abs, all six of them.

"Hey," he says suddenly. He grabs onto the chair, and you shake out of your stupor, forcing yourself to look into his blue eyes. All your senses are on overload. You feel the urge to kiss him again, and mentally, you slap yourself. You look away from his eyes and down to his lean arm.

"Draco," you say suddenly. You grab his left arm. He struggles for a moment, but you pinch him on the neck. He grins a little at your attitude, and then relaxes. Immediately, he realized what you have seen. "What is this?" You demand, flipping his arm over, so that the underbelly of his arm is showing. Engraved upon his skin is the mark you know all too well. Dark Green, a snake slithering out through the mouth of a skull is imprinted on Draco's skin.

"I think you know," he says, attempting to remove his arm from your grasp.

"That's why they've been here this week." You don't move your hands from his skin, and instead, you trace your finger around the design, not touching it. The tattoo begins to move at the touch to Draco's skin, and he finally takes his arm away.

"Are you afraid?" You ask.

He doesn't answer for a moment, but then shoves his arm back in the water, as if that will cause the mark to disappear.

"More than anything."

You're about to ask him something else, when a shrill voice calls out:

"Draco!" Pansy appears on the patio. She waves to Draco.

"I have to go," he says, and pushes away from you, propelling himself through the water.

You reach out for him, but it's too late. He's climbed out of the water and slipped on a shirt. Pansy is by his side, handing him a towel. The two of them walk back through the gate, towards the gardens, Pansy's hand in his. You roll off the chair and get out of the pool, laying down by the side, your face pressed against the warm tile. You feel sick to your stomach.


	9. Chapter 9

~Year 2005:

"I'll see you there, Celia. I don't see what the problem is." Draco edges around the couch in the Slytherin common room. He subtly picks up his rucksack and slings it over his shoulder.

"The problem is," you say, standing up and advancing on him, shaking a piece of parchment at him. "We were supposed to go together. You and me, not you and Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle."

"What, are you upset I made plans to go with _her?" _Draco flushes.

"No," you protest. You cross your arms and pout. "I have no one to go with now."

"Like I said, I'll see you there." Draco quickly trots up the stairs into his dorm and slams the door shut.

"Hey Celia," a voice says from behind you. Pansy is standing in the doorway to the common room. She slings her heavy winter cloak over one of the gold and emerald plated coat racks and takes a seat near the fire place.

"Hi Pansy," you say stiffly.

"Listen, I couldn't help but overhear," she whispers loudly. "You're welcome to meet Draco and I in Hogsmeade. I mean, if you want to bring some one else…it might be awkward otherwise."

"What's that mean?" You're perplexed. "I thought you and Draco were just going with Crabbe and Goyle."

"No," she laughs. "Draco and I are going on a date. It was really cute the way he asked me…"

You tune out her babbling and turn towards the dorm, towards Draco's door. He hadn't told you he was going with Pansy, he hadn't mentioned it at all. He had downright lied to you.

"So, are you going to come or not?" Pansy looks expectantly.

"I uhm…I don't know. I feel kind of sick," you reply. "Excuse me." You rush up the stairs and into your dorm. You indeed, feel sick to your stomach.

The next day, the day of the Hogsmeade trip, you wearily walk out of the dungeons around noon, when most every one is leaving.

"Hey, Celia," you hear some one say. You see Pansy, latched to Draco's arm, heading out the front doors. You smile with closed lips, and turn away before Draco can see you staring. Feeling upset, betrayed even, you run up the stairs of the Great Hall, wandering meaninglessly through the castle. On the fifth floor, you've just narrowly dodged Peeves, who is clutching a bottle of Frog Scum and threatening to pour it on student's heads, when you see something peculiar. Harry Potter is standing in front of the statue of the one-eyed witch. You stow yourself behind a thick, marble column and watch as he taps the hump on her back, which opens. He stows what looks like a map in his pocket, then slides into the hump, wooshing down the presumed passage. Acting on instinct, you follow. With a deep breath, you lift yourself into the statue. You let go of the edges, then zoom down the narrow tube, wincing into the dark. After what seems to be minutes, you tumble out of the tunnel.

"Ouch," some one yelps. You've just flown into the back of Harry Potter's legs.

"Oh, I'm sorry," you apologize, standing up. "I didn't know you were standing here."

"How did you…? Were you following me?"

"No," you say defensively, feeling your face heat up with embarrassment. "I just saw…I got curious…"

"Aren't you Malfoy's friend?" He asks curiously, looking disturbed. "His little girlfriend?"

"I thought I was," you say. "His friend, I mean. Not his girlfriend."

"Hmm. Interesting," he muses. "A slytherin."

"Yeah, and you're a Gryffindor."

"That I am," he agrees. "So, you're not going to rat me out to Snape, are you?"

"Why would I do that?" You ask. "I have nothing against you, personally."

"Interesting," he says again. "Alright, Celia. What are you doing in Hogsmeade?"

"I'm not sure yet. I was going with Draco, but he decided to go on a date with Pansy."

"A date?" Harry scoffs. "Not from what I heard."

"What?" You say sharply. "How would you know?"

"They were outside the Quidditch Pitch when I was," he tells you. "It didn't sound like a date. Pansy practically bullied him into it, but what can I say? She's kind of like that all the time."

"Hah," you say softly. "Well, I better get going."

"I'll see you around, Celia," he bids you as you dash up the basement stairs.

~Year: 2009

"I must escort you," Narcissa insists the morning of August 29th.

"Mum, we're sixteen, I think we can handle a trip to Diagon Alley," Draco rolls his eyes.

"After the mishap at the ministry?" Narcissa asks. "I don't think so."

Draco is silenced by her words. He glances at you and you shrug, avoiding Narcissa's gaze. You stare into the dredges of your coffee cup, watching the cream solidify.

"I…" she glances at you. "I'll take you two in half an hour. We'll take Floo Powder."

"What about apparating?" You ask, perplexed.

"We can't…we're not allowed…" Narcissa sighs, exasperated. "Sorry, you two. We're taking floo powder."

"I hate floo powder," Draco says half-heartedly, throwing a spoon into his bowl of cereal, which splatters all over the table.

An hour later, the three of you are standing in the Leaky Cauldron, getting ready to head into the town to go shopping.

"It's nice to see you, Mrs. Malfoy, oh and Ms. Validus, how nice-"

"I'm sorry, Tom," Narcissa says pleasantly. "We have a lot to do today, and not much time to do it."

Tom inclines his bare, lumpy head and retreats into the back room, swinging a curtain shut behind him. You follow Draco through the back door, and he taps one of the bricks in the wall with his wand. The bricks wiggle and move aside, and you duck through the opening.

Diagon Alley is not what it once was. The streets are dark and almost completely empty. The only store on the block that looks the least bit lively is Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, which is shooting fireworks out of the chimney and displays bright purple posters in the windows.

"C'mon," Draco says, coming up to you. "What are you looking at?" You point into the window you're looking at. A small, battered poster of Draco's father is in the corner, Lucius is skulking in the corner of the picture.

"He's wanted," Draco snorts. Narcissa beckons to the two of you, standing outside Florish and Blots, but Draco waves her away. "So what? So it every one else that escaped going to Azkaban."

"You're not in danger, are you?" You ask, scared.

"No, not from that," Draco says. He pats you on the back.

"Okay." You nod your head. "Let's go, I think your mum is having a heart attack." He laughs and the two of you join Narcissa, who indeed, is looking around nervously. She grasps her robes more tightly around her and grips her wand tightly.

"Draco, didn't you have to go into Borgin and Burkes?" She asks pointedly, once you have bought your books, robes, and potion supplies.

"Er," he looks sideways at you as you admire the new owls blinking out of the emporium. "I do. Celia, would you mind doing me a favor? Go into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and buy me a skiving snackbox? That way we can kill two birds with one stone and get out of here faster."

"Uh, sure," you accept the two galleons he hands you and pocket them. Hurridly, Narcissa and Draco slide away into Knockturn alley, trying to skirt the large groups of Hogwarts students and their parents doing their shopping. The Weasley's shop is loud and crowded, with people pressed up against each other in their hurry to buy magical products. You reach the shelf full of the wide, orange colored-boxes. Fever Fudge, Nosebleed Nogat, Puking Pastilles.

"Bloody hell," you mutter out loud. _You forgot to ask Draco what box he wanted. _You turn right around and squeeze out the door, ducking under the awning to avoid the impending rain. You run down the narrow passageway to Knockturn Alley.

"Don't worry," croons a witch huddled over a suspiciously bubbling cauldron. A man missing a few fingers taps on the brick walls, scraping his few fingernails against the brick. Another witch laughs to herself as she hurries away with a bag of what appears to be a thick, silvery. You stop outside Borgin and Burkes and reach for the door, which is locked. You peer into the window, and through a spot of grime, and see Draco and Burke crowded around a large cabinet. Narcissa is no where to be seen. Draco flattens his hand against the wood and opens the doors, peaks inside, and then shuts them again, apparently satisfied. You take a step back, intending to wait, but hit a solid something.

"Ow," you hear some one whisper.

"What's that?" You ask, panicking, peering into the empty space. "Who's there?"

"Shh, please," the voice begs. There's a glimmer in the air, you blink, and suddenly, Harry Potter is standing before you, his hands behind his back.

"Harry," you recognize faintly. You step back again, and this time collide with the windows.

"Celia," he greets you, grinning.

"Hey!" A voice suddenly shouts. The door to Borgin and Burke's opens and some one steps over the doorstep. "Get away from her."

"Draco," you protest. He charges towards Harry, his wand raised. Harry grabs his own wand and points it directly into Draco's face. "Don't. He's not worth it." You flatten your hands against his chest and shove him back.

"Celia, do you know-?"

"Of course I know, I was there, remember?" You place a hand on his face and wipe away a bead of sweat trickling down the bridge of his nose.

"C'mon, Malfoy," Harry jeers from behind your back. "I would love to see you survive Azkaban."

"Shut up Potter," you yell, turning around. "He might not curse you, but I will." Harry's smile fades and he glares at the two of you. Finally, he turns away and trots back up to Diagon Alley.

"It's sweet of you to worry." You squeeze Draco's shoulder. He slaps a hand over yours and rubs the skin.

"If I ever see him near you again, I will kill him." He glares at Harry's retreating back. "That's a promise."


	10. Chapter 10

~Year: 2006

"This time makes me hate myself," Draco says one day, pouring over his books. He tugs on his sleek locks in frustration. "I can't get this technical stuff down. I can do the spells just fine."

"Shut up, Draco." You roll your eyes. "If any one is going to fail, it will be me. I can memorize the technicalities but can't adequately perform the spells."

"Piss off, the both of you," Pansy says sourly from her spot around the table. "You're both bloody geniuses and I'm left behind." She sniffs angrily and picks up her books and heads to the dorm, where the shuts the door behind her. You raise your eyebrows and return to your work.

"She's in a bad mood," Draco remarks, staring at the door.

"You didn't say anything about her haircut, of course she's in a bad mood."

"Why would I? She wouldn't want me to insult her, would she? It looks bloody awful." You snot at his comment and accidentally spill an ink bottle all over the table.

"Oh gosh," you cry, leaping to your feet. It spills all over the front of Draco's robes. You grab a handkerchief from your pocket and begin to dab at the front of his robes. He quickly rights the bottle of ink with his wand. "I'm sorry. I'm such an idiot."

"Yeah, you are," Draco says with a laugh. "It's really okay, Celia. Its just ink."

"But it will stain," you worry.

"It's going to be fine, since I have a whole trunk of other robes." But Draco doesn't stop you from dabbing at the front of his robes with that stupid handkerchief. And you don't stop either. You move your hand up to the splatters on his chest, where you can feel his heart pumping, which seems to increase as he feels your touch. You look up at him-he's almost a half-head taller than you now. His lips part slightly, and his eyes seem to burn, the color intensifies. Draco leans over you slightly.

"Um," you say.

"Thanks," he replies hastily. Draco turns away and hastily scourgifies the ink, which mops itself away from the table. You grab one of the books and realize the ink has seeped into the pages, staining the cover.

"Damn," you mutter. "I better get this back to the library before Madam Pince notices it gone." Without waiting for him to reply, you rush out of the Slytherin common room. You jump up the stairs of the dungeon two at a time, entering the great hall.

_What on earth just happened? _You begin the tedious long climb up the stairs towards the library, keeping your head down, not paying attention to your surroundings. _Why was it that Draco's heart was beating like that? And the way he looked at you…what was that all about? This is ridiculous, Celia. Stop thinking about this. He's your best friend in the whole world, there's nothing there…It was just appreciation, of course. He doesn't like you like that. _Due to your lack of attention, you walk straight into some one.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," you exclaim, leaning over to pick up your fallen book.

"God, what's wrong with you? Why don't you watch where you are walking?"

"I said I'm sorry," you reply, flaring up. You straighten to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione standing in front of you. It must have been Harry you collided with, because he's flattening his hair and straightening his glasses. Ron looks angry, he's glaring fiercely at you.

"It's okay Ron," Harry nods at you. "Celia's okay."

"But Malfoy…"

"But Malfoy nothing." Harry pushes Ron and Hermione around you, both of who give you deep, loathing looks. "Sorry about that," he apologizes. "I think Ron thinks you and Malfoy are related…and therefore out to kill me."

You glare at him. "Draco wouldn't do such a thing."

Harry shrugs. "Maybe you don't know him as well as you thought you do."

"Harry!" Hermione yells from the bottom of the stairs. "We need to go!"

"See you around, Celia," Harry repeats, and runs down the stairs and out the doors, Ron and Hermione in his wake. You shake your head and continue on your way to the library. Avoiding Madam Pince's glance, you throw the soiled book into the turn-in box and run back down to the dungeons. You've just reached the common room door and repeated the password ("Blood Status"), when a group of people stumbles down the stairs. Draco is walking ahead of Crabbe and Goyle, holding his nose, which appears to be bleeding profusely.

"Draco, what happened?" You hold his arm as he settles into the sofa. You shove aside the marble chess set and sit down next to him. "Tissue," you snap at Crabbe, who punches Goyle, who picks up the nearest tissue box and tosses it to you. You catch it and remove a tissue, crumple it up, and hold it to Draco's nose.

"Gross," Goyle murmurs, and you shoot him a dirty look.

"What happened?" You ask Draco, who tips his head back. Crabbe lets out a soft little laugh. Draco slowly turns around to glare at him, and the two idiots shuffle away.

"Mudblood Granger," he says shortly. "She's crazy. She should be locked up." He takes the tissue from you and presses it to the blood flow, soaking through the thin material.

"You better let me do that," you laugh. You grab a handful of tissues and ball them up, then press them to his nose again, which looks to be swelling. A door loudly opens and Pansy emerges from the dorm.

"Draco," she squeals, and runs down the stairs. "What happened?"

"Got in a fight," he says, eyeing you to make sure you won't blow his cover. You smile and wink and his face relaxes. He smirks slightly. Pansy rudely shoves you aside and grabs the tissues from your hand.

"You shouldn't have to do this, Celia." She smiles at you, but under it, you can decipher a faint trace of jealousy.

"Right," you say, slowly standing up. "Gross." Draco's smirk is wiped off his face as you leave.

~Year: 2009

"C'mon now," Narcissa says. You follow her through King's Cross station, trying to keep a firm hold on your cart. Your owl, Cinnia, hoots angrily as a passerby accidentally smacks her cage with a newspaper. Draco pushes ahead of you, clearing a walkway. People grumble as they pass, but he ignores them. You smile and keep close to him.

"Quick, through the barrier," Narcissa presses.

"Mum, we know. We've only been going to Hogwarts for five years now." Draco rolls his eyes and jogs through the solid wall. You close your eyes and jog through as well, narrowly avoiding a group of first years that are hovering right outside the entrance.

"We've got to go to the prefect's carriage, remember?" You ask, adjusting the shiny, silver pin on your robes.

"I'm so proud of you two," Narcissa beams. "Draco, put on your pefect's badge." Draco glowers, but pins it on his robes anyway. You reach out to straighten it, but a pair of hands reach it before you can.

"There you go," Pansy Parkinson squeaks, stepping in between you and Draco. You clear your throat and turn to Narcissa. She gives you a look that's far too knowing for your liking. She hugs you tightly, and she does so, whispers in your ear: "Keep an eye on my boy, will you? And keep that little vulture away from him." You choke out a laugh and she releases you. She pats you sweetly on the cheek and kisses Draco on the cheek, budging Pansy away as she does so.

"Come on, Celia," Draco tells you, patting his mother on the back. "The prefect's carriage, you said?"

"You're still the prefect?" Pansy looks terrified as she asks you.

"Yep," you reply. You take Cinnia's cage off your cart and allow the train attendant to place your trunk on the train. Draco shrugs off Pansy's desperate embrace, and leaps onto the train. You follow, and then get a glimpse of Pansy's face through the window. She looks angry, and when she sees you starring, quickly turns away and walks swiftly the other way.

"Good to be back," Draco says appreciatively once you reach the Prefect's compartment. The compartment is significantly more plush than the regular compartments, with thick red leather seats and trays of gourmet food laid out for the taking. The two of you take a seat next to a window, by a table with a small tier of cakes and a steaming kettle of hot chocolate. You're joined by Ernie and Hannah from Hufflepuff, Padma and Anthony from Ravenclaw, and worst of all, Ron and Hermione from Gryffindor.

"Ugh." Hermione says out loud when she sees you.

"They let mud bloods on the train this year?" Draco asks. You giggle and Hermione takes a seat, her haughty profile reflected in the soft light.

"Welcome, Prefects," a voice says. The eight of you turn to see a letter floating in the air, the corners folded inward as to resemble a mouth, speaking with the clipped tone of Professor McGongall. "I trust you remember your duties from last year. Failure to comply with these will ultimately lead to detention, suspension, or expulsion. If you feel you are not up to the task, please contact me as soon as you reach the school. Now, Dumbledore wants me to tell you this: The Ministry does not want you to panic, but he-who-must-not-be-named is back, as you all know. You must watch out for suspicious behavior, and if you see it, report it immediately to your superiors" The letter tears itself apart and drifts to the floor.

"Well gee,' Draco says in a high-pitched, mock-eager voice. "I'll be sure to do that right away."

The rest of the Prefects sweep from the compartment, giving the two of you dirty looks as they pass. You smile sweetly at them as they leave, but it seems just to infuriate them further, especially Hermione.

"You want anything?" Draco asks, grabbing a sandwich off one of the trays.

"No, I'm not hungry. Thank you, though." You instead pour a glass of pumpkin juice. You tap your fingers against the table. "So, Pansy seemed upset this morning."

"We fought last week," Draco says shortly.

"What about?" You ask.

He hesitates, you can see him tilt his head slightly.

"You can tell me," you say.

"You." He turns back to you and sits down at the table. "Pansy thinks you're coming after me or something."

"So n-not…" you stutter.

"I told her that. She is just full of rage, so she's grabbing onto me more than usual."

"Well, I'm sorry. If you want I can just not hang out with…"

"No." Draco says shortly. "Pansy needs to learn that she can't be involved in every single aspect of my life."

He turns away to throw out his napkin, and you can't help but smile to yourself as he does so.


	11. Chapter 11

~Year 2006:

"Miss Celia!" You're sprawled on your bed, cushioned by numerous pillows, reading a book. "Miss Celia!"

"What is it?" You ask, exasperated. You turn your face towards the door. The house elf is standing outside; you can hear her high-pitched voice seep through the cracks in the door.

"Mr. Malfoy is here to see you. He says he has…"

"Good news," a voice interrupts. Draco has climbed the stairs to join the house elf. "Celia, I have exciting news, straight from the ministry." You throw your book aside, and open the door. A rather tanned Draco, whose hair is mussed, beams. "Move," he commands the house elf, who scampers away.

"Thank you," you call after her, but she's already to far away. "Don't do that," You scold him.

"Oh, just wait until you hear," he continues, ignoring your reprimand. He sits down on your window sill. "This year. The Triwizard Tournament. At Hogwarts."

"You've got to be joking," you reply, shocked. "That hasn't happened in what…100 years? People could die."

"Yeah, let's just hope it's a Gryffindor." You gasp, but let out a bit of a laugh too. "Just kidding," he says hastily.

"You're not," you accuse. He smirks.

"What can I say?" He shrugs. "Anyway, I hear Durmstrang is coming in…that ought to be interesting."

"Karkaroff?" You ask. "He won't be…?"

"Oh yes, he will." Draco crosses his arm. "Father can't stand him. That's why I went to Hogwarts."

"I thought you went because your mum-"

"Yeah, that's part of it. But father thinks he's grown weak. Hasn't been teaching the real stuff any more. Probably softer than Dumbledore."

You shake your head, place a marker in between the pages of your book, and place it on your night stand, then lay down on your bed.

"I don't see why you're so fascinated by the dark arts."

"And why aren't you?" He asks. He pushes himself off the windowsill and walks over to your bed. He twists his arm around the wooden four-poster.

"I don't know," you reply. "I just don't want to inflict pain on others, I guess."

"You have no problem inflicting pain on me," Draco jokes. He pulls his hair off his forehead to reveal a thin, pink scar.

"Hey," you say, blushing. "I didn't mean to hit you with that bat."

"You cheated," he sneers. "That bludger was no where near me."

You cock your head to one side and smirk. "I never cheat." Draco smirks right back.

"That's not true," he protests. He jumps on your bed as well, lying down next to you. "I taught you how to play wizards chess and how to win, remember?"

"I'd say you're the cheater here," you shoot back. The two of you chuckle. Draco settles into the mattress, slamming his back into the down comforter.

"Mind if I sleep here?" He asks. Draco props his elbow on one of your pillows, then places his head in his hand, his eyes flickering.

"What's wrong with your bed?" You ask. You flip over so your back is to Draco. Exhausted, your eyes begin to drift close as he answers. Minutes later, you feel his hand lightly touching your hair, tangling in the strands. Your eyelids, heavy as lead now, drift completely closed and cement shut.

"Celia!" Some one calls. They sound so far away. "Celia, wake up." You open your eyes to see your mother standing in your doorway. She looks disapproving. You stretch, and feel your arm collide with some one else. Draco is still next to you, fast asleep, his hand curled around a piece of your hair.

"Mum." You sit straight up, carefully removing Draco's hand from your hair.

"Please tell me I didn't just walk in on my fourteen year-old-daughter…"

"No." You look down at Draco, who is still fast asleep, breathing deeply. Your mother sighs deeply.

"I should know, of course. You two are like brother and sister." You nod. She smiles at you and you lay back down next to Draco, closing your eyes once more. Your mother quietly closes the door behind her. As you begin to fall back asleep, you don't notice Draco's eyes snap open.

"Like brother and sister," he breathes. Slowly, he rocks up and gets off the bed. He watches you sleep for a moment. Without waking you, he leans over your cheek and lightly presses his lips to your skin. In your sleep, you turn over and smile as he leaves the room.

~Year: 2009

"Oh good," Draco says the first morning back at Hogwarts. He glances over his schedule, then shoves a slice of apple into his mouth. "Potions with Slughorn. Should be good, I think he taught my father."

"Well good," you reply sourly. "You can suck up to another teacher."

"What's wrong with you this morning?" He asks you, looking astonished. Crabbe and Goyle looked stunned at your outburst as well, but that might just be because they had eaten too much bacon.

"Nothing," you reply, then savagely stab a piece of toast with your knife, then twist it around, leaving a gaping hole in the middle. You woke up this morning to find your clothes missing, as well as your shampoo and conditioner. But those were easy to find. Pansy had squirted them all over you new charms textbook. But you didn't want to tell Draco that. "Just really tired is all. Sorry." You smash the toast with your knife.

He seems to see right through your excuse. He grinds his teeth and raises his blonde eyebrows. You glance towards the entrance to the great hall. Pansy and Daphne Greengrass walk in together. When Pansy sees you, she smiles and waves sarcastically. Daphne bursts into laughter along with Pansy. The two of them make their way down to your end of the Slytherin table.

"I'll see you in potions," you say to Draco. You can't stand to spend one more minute in the presence of Pansy Parkinson. Draco opens his mouth to say something, but you grab your backpack, hoist it over your shoulders and begin to leave the great hall.

"Hi, Celia." Pansy steps in front of you, blocking your path.

"Pansy. Hi Daphne," you greet them stiffly, straightening up.

"How was your morning?" Pansy asks sweetly. She smiles, and her pug-like features squish up even further, almost flattening her face completely.

"You know, it was great. It really was. Until I found out that some complete arse has ruined my new belongings. No matter, as prefect, I will find out who it is. And they will be punished." You smile back just as sweetly. Pansy clears her throat and glowers at you. Daphne looks uncomfortable.

"Listen, Celia. I don't know what game you're playing."

"Pansy, I'm not playing any game. You are. Why can't you just leave me alone?"

She glares. "I know how you feel about him. Draco, I mean. The way you look at him, fall over him and all that." Her chest heaves with the harsh words she's uttered. "I wish your parents hadn't died, you know that? You wouldn't have moved in with the Malfoy's…huddled up next to my boyfriend. Or maybe…" she pauses. "Maybe your parents dying was just the thing I needed." She glances towards Daphne, who looks scared at her confrontation. "Yeah. You know, I think it screwed you up so badly, you changed. You don't threaten me any more. You're scared, distant." She scoffs. "Draco would never want any one as timid and pathetic as you." You feel hot, angry tears scorch the back of your throat. You push past Pansy, purposely slamming into her shoulder, sending her spinning.

Later that day, before dinner, you're sitting alone in the common room. Reveling in the silence, you pull out a deck of exploding snap cards and begin to play solitaire.

"How is it," a voice rings out. "You always win this game?"

You smile slightly as Draco sits down next to you on the ground. He watches you place on card after another on stack after stack.

"I know my self very well. But I know logic better."

"You don't know yourself better than I know you." Draco leans forward so his face is positioned right in front of yours. You swallow as he freezes you with those blue eyes. "So I know when you're upset."

"Not upset," you correct. You lay another card down. "Just perturbed."

"Celia. Be serious. I know you, I know Pansy. What's going on?"

"How about you ask Pansy? You seem to know exactly what's happening there."

You place the last card in the sequence. The cards light up and explode, releasing colors and confetti.

"She still hasn't stopped with this stuff from last week?"

You sweep the ashes into your hand and throw them into the fireplace behind you.

"This really has nothing to do with you. If you want, talk to Pansy."

"Celia…"

"No, Draco." You stand up. "I'm serious. This has nothing to do with you." You walk up the steps to the Slytherin girl's dorm and slam the door behind you. You sink on your bed. _How are you supposed to be sane when you can't talk to your best friend? You can't possibly explain to him that the girl he's dating, has been for a while now, is making your life miserable. By trying to protect your best friend, you're slowly hurting yourself._


	12. Chapter 12

~Year: 2006

"Five galleons," you father wagers. Draco watches the Irish players zoom by on their firebolts, a shrewd expression etched on his face.

"Eight," he shoots back. "Ireland will win."

"Oh ho," Lucius cackles. He places a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Be careful, Robert." He grins at your father. "Draco knows his quidditch teams. He might wipe you out there."

"Not a chance, not a chance," your father laughs. He reaches in his pocket for the eight galleons. "Bulgaria's got Krum." Suddenly, your father's arm shakes, as if having a seizure, and the galleons fall to the floor.

"Dad?" You ask. He slaps his right hand over his left arm. He looks at Lucius, who looks nervous. Lucius imitates your father's movement.

"What's going on?" Your mother asks. She and Narcissa have returned from the food stands below. She hands you a gillywater, then links her arm through your father's.

"Lucius?" Narcissa asks, noticing his stance. "It's not the…?" She trails off. Lucius shakes his head violently, then tips his head towards Draco, who is leaning over the railing, watching the game intently. Though curious, you turn back to the game, just in time to see Krum grab the snitch.

"Victor Krum nabs the snitch!" A voice roars from the box office. You turn around and smile widely at the man commentating. The box you're sitting in explodes with cheers.

"Ireland won though," Draco insists. He smirks and holds his hand out to your father. With a smile, your father slaps the money in Draco's palm. "Knew it," he says gleefully, and pockets the money.

"Ah well," your father says ten minutes later, when you and your mother follow him back into the tent. "It was a good match."

"I wish I had seen it," your mother says ruefully. She slips on a thick, black cloak. "Only fifteen minutes long, what are the Irish playing at?"

"They're talented," you say. You shiver at the cold air in the tent and pick a sweater out of your travel bag.

"Robert?" You hear Lucius's voice from outside the tent. "You and Alice are needed out here. Your parents exchange glances, and then look to you.

"Sweetheart," your mother says, smiling at you. She grabs your shoulders firmly. "I want you to go with Draco, okay? Lucius, Narcissa, your father and I have some things to attend to."

"What about the tent?" You ask. "Who's going to watch it?"

She looks back at your father, who is busy putting on a set of traveling robes. Her left arm flexes, you can feel it twitch. She smiles again, but her smile is strained, the lines around her eyes are pronounced.

"The tent will be fine, our stuff will be protected. Go on, sweetheart. You and Draco go find some friends from school, I'm sure there's tons milling around the campsite, hmm?"

You nod, even though you have a gut feeling you should not leave the tent. Your parents leave the tent, ducking through the flap. Moments later, Draco enters the tent, a wide smile on his pointed face. He holds open the flap for you and you duck through as well. You cannot see your parents, though that might be due to the chaos of the campsite. People are celebrating the Irish win, running around, some even on brooms, lighting fireworks and wizard crackers.

"Where are our parents going?" You ask. Draco doesn't answer right away. He opens his mouth to answer, then shuts it. "What do you know?" You press, shoving him on the shoulder.

"They have something to carry out. The dark lord's wishes," he whispers the last part.

"The dark lord?" You hiss back. "That could be dangerous. This is a campsite full of ministry officials. This doesn't sound good."

"Stop worrying," he says with a careless wave of his hand. "Look, all my dad told me was to hide in the more forested part of the campsite, in case anything got out of control."

The two of you duck past Seamus Finnigan's tent, where it looks like 30 Hogwarts students are celebrating, tearing apart posters of Bulgaria's team. You've just sat down on the mossy forest floor when something first happens. Some one lets out a high-pitched scream of terror. Many tent lights flicker on, shining in the darkness. At once, families begin to stumble around the campsite, looking for each other, shoving other people out of the way.

"Ella," one mother screams, tearing through the crowd, tears running down her tortured face. "ELLA! Where are you?" You make a movement towards the campsite, as if to dash back in and help the woman, but Draco grabs your arm, restraining you.

"No," he shouts. "Look!" He points towards the center of the campgrounds. Suspended in the air is the muggle family that runs the place. The mother is upside down, trying to hold her skirts above her knees, while the little boy spins in the air. The daughter and the father remain limp.

"Oh god," you say. You had quietly known your parents to be involved in the dark arts for the past years. You had even supported them. That is, up until you saw the terror first hand. You slap a hand over your mouth when the little boy pukes, splattering the top of one tent with vomit. "This is awful."

"Hey," Draco says suddenly. "What're you doing here, Wealsey? Daddy gone off to save the dirty muggles?"

You look behind you. Harry, Ron and Hermione are emerging from behind a thick clump of trees. You turn back to watch the scene unfolding at the campsite.

"Where are your parents, Malfoy?" Ron shoots back. "Out there in masks?"

"If they were, I wouldn't be likely to tell you." Draco leans back against a tree and crosses his arm. He smirks. "Better keep that bushy head down, Granger." You look back again to see Hermione blush, her face half-hidden in the shadows. Ron makes a sudden movement, as if reaching for his wand, but Hermione grabs his arm and tugs him away. Harry does not go with them at first.

"Are you okay, Celia?" You shake your head.

"She's fine," Draco interrupts. "Get out of here, Potter." Harry takes one last glance at your pale, terrified, face, then turns and walks away.

"What's wrong with you?" You demand of Draco. You stand up and put your hands on your hips.

"I could ask you the same thing," he says.

"I feel sick, watching this." You point to the sky. "The kids, Draco. Look at them. That boy is maybe 8."

"So what?"

"Sp, would you have liked that to happen to you when you were just 8 years old?" You shake your head and spit at his feet. "Dispicable."

Suddenly, a beam of light flies into the trees. Draco grabs you and pulls you to the ground so that the beam of light just misses your head.

"I never supported the act on the kids," he says, keeping you pinned to the ground. "I've never seen you act like this."

"I've always been sensitive to treating others certain ways," you shoot back.

Draco turns his face away, towards the ground. "I remember," he says softly. In his mind's eye, he sees a scene from when you two were younger, maybe six years old. The fairy he caught you for your birthday nestles itself onto the top of a statue. He loosens his grasp on your hand, giving you the option to roll away. But you don't.

~Year 2009:

Two weeks fly by, and your sixth year proves to be your most difficult yet.

"I just can't get this vein out," you complain during potions. You are attempting to cut into an alligator heart, but the short, silver knife you're using seems to be ineffective on the thick hide. Draco picks up his own knife, makes a fist around the handle, and plunges it into his own alligator heart. Blood splatters everywhere, soaking the cauldron and the table. You spit, and blood seeps out of your teeth.

"Sorry," Draco apologizes. He waves his wand and the blood mops itself away. You don't say anything, just merely wipe some of the blood off your face. The rest of the potions class continues is silence. You and Draco haven't really talked in the past two weeks, after that first night in the common room. You spend your time with Daphne or Tracey Davis, another witch in Slytherin, and he spends his with Crabbe, Goyle, or Pansy. Pansy, for her, is acting nicer than usual. She either ignores you, or keeps the torment down to a minimum, meaning instead of setting your clothes on fire like she did in the first week, she merely slipped a flobberworm in your book bag.

After class, you walk out of the dungeons to see Pansy waiting outside for Draco.

"Hi baby," she squeals and slips her arms around his neck. He slips out of her embrace, uncomfortable, as a bunch of Gryffindors walk by and snicker. You let out a nasty giggle as well, and you can feel Draco's eyes on your back as you walk away.

"Hey, Celia," a voice says. You see Harry standing next to you.

"Potter," you reply. "What do _you _want?"

"I need some potions help," he declares.

"You seem to be doing just fine on your own. You're top in class." You round a corner and start to head into the corridor where the Slytherin common room is located.

"Maybe I just wanted you to tudor me….alone." Harry smirks. You roll your eyes. "No, I'm sorry. Listen, just…how can I get you to forgive me? I would like to spend some time with you."

"I don't think I can do that," you say stiffly. "I don't think you've quite redeemed yourself."

"That was two years ago," Harry beseeches you. "I was stupid."

You sigh and study his face. His eyes are wide, his hands are clasped together, and his mouth is unsmiling. He means what he is saying.

"I'll think about it." You turn away and walk into the corridor. Daphne is by your side moments later, having returned early from Astronomy.

"What was that about?" She asks suspiciously, glancing over her shoulder. "Is he still begging you to go out with him again?"

"I said I might." You choose your words carefully. "If I make him miserable during out time together, he will leave me alone." She smiles.

"Thattagirl." The two of you laugh.

"Listen, I'm going to get some dinner. Do you want to come?"

"Uhm, not now." You gesture to your still blood-spattered robes. "I'm going to go take a bath." Daphne recites the password, stashes her backpack in a corner, then heads out of the room. You go upstairs, grab a towel, shampoo and conditioner, and then leave the common room, set on going to take a bath in the Prefect's bathroom, a few floors away.

You've just dashed through a portrait when you run smack into Daphne.

"Celia, I was just looking for you," she screeches, her eyes wide.

"Weren't you going to get food? Wait, what's wrong?"

"It's Draco and Pansy," she says excitedly. "They broke up. Well, actually, Draco dumped her."

"Wait, what?" You shake your head. "How do you know this?"

"I just ran into Pansy," she says. "She wouldn't say why they broke up. But boy is she mad."

"Pansy's always mad," you say thoughtfully.

"Maybe you could ask Draco," she suggests. "You two are close. Pansy wants to find out the 'real reason.' Er, that's what she says, anyway."

You laugh. "She's pathetic sometimes. Really. But I will check." Daphne nods, then smiles.

"Now you and Draco can get together, eh? Every one's been waiting for it now."

"I…"

"Oh right, I forgot. Just friends." This time, Daphne laughs. She walks down the staircase and disappears before you can say another word. You shake your head, reassert yourself, and continue on your way to the Slytherin Prefect bathroom.

"Salazar," you say to the portrait of the hunting dog. It barks once, and the wide, golden frame splits away from the wall. You open it wider and slip inside, discreetly closing it behind you. Feeling alleviated, joyful even, at the news of Draco and Pansy's break up, you duck into the women's dressing room, humming. You strip off your clothes, wrap your towel around yourself, and then head back out to bath. Oddly enough, the water is already run, steaming hot, with a thick foam layer of bubbles floating on the surface.

"Odd," you mutter.

"What?" A voice rings out. You scream and turn around. Draco ducks behind a mirror-he's stark naked.

"Oh god, I'm sorry," you say, quivering. "I didn't know you would be in here."

"God, Celia, didn't you hear the water running?" He laughs.

"No…" you say defiantly. "I was humming."

"Oh, that explains it," he says quietly. "So are you going to leave or will I have to put on a towel?" You begin to inch away, but then stop. You turn towards the mirror, which he hurridly stows behind once more.

"Damn," he mutters, then wraps a towel around his waist. "What is it?"

"Did you break up with Pansy?" You question.

He sighs. "Truthfully, yes. I did."

"I'm sorry." But he can tell your statement is not sincere. He moves closer to you.

"We broke up because of what she said. About you."

"She says things about me all the time," you reply, your voice a monotone. "That's no reason to break up with her."

"Daphne told me what she said to you," he says quietly. He flicks his hair out of his eyes, which glimmer in the moonlight streaming through the stain-glass windows. "About your parents and everything."

"Yeah, well…"

"She said she can see how you're in love with me." You cough, uncomfortable.

"She did say that," you admit.

"Is it true, Celia? Tell me. Tell me the truth, please."

You turn away from him. You walk across the bathroom until you're standing at the edge of the deep tub. With a deep breath, you drop your towel, which collapses around your ankles. You look behind you. Draco is standing stock still, his hand still loosely holding up the towel around his waist. He stares at your body hungrily, his eyes blazing. You slide into the water.

"It's true," you finally admit. Without another word, Draco briskly walks over to the tub. You tread the water and stare up at him. Draco pulls his towel away from his body and enters the tub as well, merely causing small ripples into the water.

"God," he says. He swims over to you, and the two of you simply float there for a moment, your toes barely scraping the bottom of the tub. "I've loved you for as long as I can remember." You give him a genuine smile, you can feel your heart pump faster, as if it's about to burst out of your chest. Tentatively, Draco places a hand on the nape of your neck, and you bring your limbs out of the water and slip them around his neck. Draco places his lips on yours, and you feel the electric shock you felt before. You close your eyes and fireworks burst in front of them. You let out a small moan and pull Draco closer. With a surprising amount of force and gentleness, Draco pins you against the side of the tub. He runs his hands down the length of your neck, down the side of your face. He grasps your jaw and pulls your lips to his, running his tounge against your bottom lip. He kisses his way down your neck, lightly biting your collarbone.

"Draco," you say, letting his name escape from your lips. You wrap your legs around his waist and bring your hand down, placing it on his defined abs.

"Are you sure?" He asks, pulling away from your lips. He places his fingertips on your bottom lip, strokes your hair.

"Yes," you whisper. "What if I hurt you?" He lets his breath drift over you.

"It can't possibly hurt more than the fact this could have happened sooner. If I hadn't denied it…god, I'm pigheaded. Stupid."

"You're beautiful. Perfect." Draco swoops you up into his arms, and you hook yours around his neck.

"Finally," you whisper. "My dream has come true." Draco places his hand on the back of your head and kisses you once more.


	13. Chapter 13

Year: 2006

"You must know why I gathered you here today," McGonagall says lightly. Your entire year is gathered in a large, unused classroom. "One tradition of the Triwizard Tournament is a dance. The Yule Ball."

Your class erupts into chaos. Girls begin to giggle uncontrollably, smooth their hair and cross their legs demurely. The boys take it a little differently, most grumble. Draco himself mimes throwing up, to the guffaws of Crabbe and Goyle.

"I expect the absolute best behavior from all of you," she continues crisply. She throws a glance Draco's way, her glower deepening. "The Ball will take place two week from now." When no one makes another sound, she widens her eyes. "You may leave."

Every one jumps up and begins to leave, the girls still tittering away.

"Gag me," Draco says as the two of you leave, Crabbe and Goyle in your wake. "Pansy is going to be all over this." You don't say a word. You can spot Pansy a few steps away, twirling her hair as she walks. She looks back at Draco and throws him a smile. He looks away, blushing slightly.

Three days later, you escape the crowded Slytherin common room and head up to the Owlry to send a letter to your parents. You call your owl down from the highest ledge onto your arm and tie the letter to it's leg.

"This goes to mum and dad," you say gently, stoking the feathers on her wing. She hoots dolefully and springs off your arm, taking flight out the window. You watch her go for a moment, gliding over the forbidden forest. The door to the owlry opens, slamming against the stone staircase.

"Oh," you say, turning around. Harry Potter is standing there, a letter in his hand. "Hi."

"Hi Celia," he says, frozen in the doorway. When he says nothing more, you clear your throat with a fake cough. "Hedwig," he calls, almost re-awakening. A beautiful snowy owl flies down from the ledge your owl had been perched upon.

"She's beautiful," you admire, approaching him. Hedwig, balanced on Harry's outstretched arm, blinks her amber eyes. Harry ties the letter to Hedwig's leg.

"She's friendly, too," he says. But before you can reach out to touch her, Hedwig takes flight. "Ah, well, she usually is," Harry says with a grin. "Maybe she can sense you're a Slytherin."

"Oh, you're funny," you say sarcastically, beginning to walk out of the owlry. "I shouldn't say this, considering what you said to me just now." He smirks. "But I thought you did well on the first task."

He nods gratefully. "Thanks. You're one of the only people who think so." He grins at you. You smile back.

"So..uh…the Yule Ball is coming up," he says as the two of you quickly walk down a staircase. "You going with Malfoy?"

"Oh," you say, slightly surprised. "No. I haven't been asked. Besides…I think he's going with Pansy."

"That must tear you up," Harry mutters. You stop in your tacks and glare at him. "Sorry," he says hastily. "I didn't mean it like that."

"You did," you say, raising your eyebrows. But you say nothing more.

"Why don't you go with me?" Harry asks casually, but you can hear the nervous tone in his voice. The two of you stop at the top of the staircase in the Great Hall.

"What, to the Yule Ball?" You can hardly contain a sneer from spreading across your face. "Do you _like _me, Potter?"

Harry blushes deeply and rubs the back of his neck with his hand.

"Why not?" You say. "Sure."

"Okay," He replies, his face breaking out into a genuine smile. "So...I'll meet you here, at eight next Saturday."

"I guess you will," you say with a smile. Harry turns around and walks back up the way you come. When he thinks you can't see him, he raises his arm in a victory gesture. You shake your head. _It was cute though, the way he smiled. And how he was nervous._

"Celia!" You hear a sharp voice say. You snap out of your thoughts. Draco is climbing the stairs, looking furious. "What was that about? Was he bothering you?" Something in Draco's expression makes you mad as well.

"It's none of your business," you snap. He draws back.

"I have a right to be worried for you," he says. "Potter knows we're friends, he could hurt you."

"For your information," you say angrily. "He didn't say one thing about you."

"What's going on then?" Draco steps onto the same stair as you, towering above you.

"He asked me to the Yule Ball," you say calmly. You begin to descend the stairs. You hear Draco's puffs of breath, and then his footsteps follow you.

"You didn't say yes, did you?" Draco heads you off, standing a stair below you. He looks confused, upset, and rage-filled all at the same time.

"I did," you say defiantly. People milling around the Great Hall stare at the two of you, both your voices have risen exponentially. "Why do you care anyway?" You stretch up to your full height, and even though you're still shorter than Draco, your annoyance seems to add inches. "You can just go with Pansy. It's what she wants. What you want."

Draco says nothing. His lips are closed, but they twitch furiously, as if he's thinking of all the words he could say. For a moment, you think you see a tear rise in one of his eyes, but he stomps away towards the dungeons without another word.

~Year: 2009

"Celia," Draco says. The two of you have moved out of the bath, and you're sitting on the bed in the prefect's room, a bedroom of sorts next to the Slytherin Prefect's bathroom. Draco is standing in the doorway, wearing only his underwear. You feel your stomach knot, nervous, but even as you feel it contract, you reach for Draco. He seems unable to resist your gesture. He walks further into the room. You scoot back on the bed, resting your head on the pillow. Draco kneels on the end of the bed and slowly leans over you. His face is conflicted, as if two emotions are pulling him apart.

"What's wrong?" you ask him. You place your hand on the side of his face, spread your fingertips against his smooth skin. Draco doesn't answer. He presses his lips to your collarbone. "What is it? Tell me." You press.

Draco suddenly gets off you. He spins around and sits on the edge of the bed, and pulls his underwear back on.

"I can't do this," he says shortly.

"What?" You ask. You pull the sheets around yourself and sit up.

"I can't…" Draco shakes his head and trails off, his voice heavy. "I have to tell you something…God, you're going to hate me."

You place your arm around Draco's shoulder and tangle your fingers in his hair the brushes near the middle of his neck. "I can't hate you."

"You will after you hear this." He takes a deep breath. "You know when my mother took you out to tea three weeks ago for a few hours? There was a reason she had to take you out of the house. I got my first assignment." Draco runs a hand through his hair. He takes one of your hands in his, palm up, and examines the lines there. "They want me to kill Dumbledore."

"Kill…Dumbledore." You pull your hand away. "No…why you?"

"I don't know." His voice grows to a slightly hysterical pitch, and his eyes look tortured. "The Dark Lord has wished for me to do this. I don't have a choice, Celia."

"You have a choice," you cry. You feel tears rise to your eyes. "Draco, you can't possibly…"

At your words, he loses his temper. "I have to!" He roars. He launches himself off the bed, his arms shaking. He grabs an inkwell of the nearby desk and hurls it against the wall, where it shatters into a million pieces. Draco sinks to the floor, kneeling down. He lets out a garbled cry of pain, which is punctuated by a dry sob. You wrap yourself completely in the white sheet and bend down next to him. He makes a sudden movement, as if he's leaning away from you, but stops himself. "They will kill you, Celia. HE will kill you, my family, he will destroy everything I love."

"So that's it?" You say, your voice shaking. "That's the end of what could have been."

"I thought I lost you before. I almost did lose you, more than once. I almost lost it, Celia."

"Either way, you will lose me," you say, standing up. "Killing some one? Why didn't you say anything before? Now I have to lose you too."

"Please, Celia." Draco stands up as well. He furrows his brow and holds onto your hand. "You have to understand. I love you. That's why I can't be with you."

You swallow the tears. "I understand. One more person I have to live without." You stand on your tip-toes and press your lips to his. He relents, wrapping his arms around your waist. He releases you, and rests his forehead against yours, his breath ragged.

"I…" He begins. He clears his throat. "I have to go."

"Okay." You nod. Draco sweeps you up in his arms once more, presses his lips to yours. Before you can hold your hands to his face, he is gone, closing the door behind him. You sink down on the bed and hold your hand to your mouth, trapping his kiss to your lips, your secret and yours alone.


	14. Chapter 14

~Year: 2006

"What do you think?" You nervously turn around to face the other girls in your dorm.

"Flawless," Millicent says in her dull voice.

"So pretty," Daphne gushes.

"You look fine." Pansy crosses her arms as she says this, and wrinkles her nose slightly. You brush a loose hair away from your face and look in the mirror that hangs next to your armoire. You're make-up is light, almost giving you a golden complexion, with rosy pink lips. Your hazel eyes shine brightly as thick, dark lashes surround them. Your blonde hair is was tightly curled the night before, so it rushes down to your shoulders in soft waves that frame your face. Cautiously, you smooth the chiffon of your dress (.com/files/ons2/546/5461486/45_2009/de815a7183e3cbc2_) and put on your shoes.

"I had better go," Daphne says, looking at her watch, which she tosses onto her bed. "Blaise is waiting for me."

She runs from the room, swaying in her high-heels.

"I guess I better go then too," you say, looking at yourself once more.

"You look fine," Pansy snaps suddenly, pulling her hair up with a sweep of her wand. It piles on her head in a thick braid. She looks like a milkmaid. Sourly, she smoothes the skirt of her own dress, which is an awful, putrid green color. You smirk; she looks like a rotten pea. With one last, gloating look at her, you leave the room, slamming the door as hard as you can behind you. When you turn around to descend the staircase, you are facing Draco, who has just left _his_ dormitory.

"Celia," he says awkwardly, inclining his head ever-so-slightly. You don't immediately reply. The sight of him, standing tall in handsome, crisp black robes has caused your breath to sieze up in your throat, which contracts. You cough loudly, clutching your rasping pipes.

"Are you okay?" He asks, alarmed, slapping you on the back.

"Yes, thank you," you manage to get out, pulling the strands of hairs away from your lipgloss.

"Oh," he says awkwardly, his hand still resting on your back. "Your dress…" You feel a bubble of panic rise in your stomach.

"What's wrong?" You demand, trying to crane your head over your shoulder to see what he's looking at. His face turns pink, and you feel his hand slowly drift down towards the base of the zipper, near the small of your back, right above the lacy line of your underwear.

"You're not zipped up," he says quietly. Silently, you gather your hair in your hands and gently hold it over one shoulder. Draco zips up the dress and fastens the latch on the top. And even though the dress is set in place, he doesn't take his hands away. You drop your hair, which tumbles over his hands, but he still doesn't move them away from the clasp. Slowly, you turn around to face him, trying to keep your face cool and collected, though it's hard when your heat is beating as fast as it is. The scar on your neck prickles slightly, as if it can sense Draco's presence.

"I thought you were mad at me," you whisper, looking up at him. His eyes look conflicted, with traces of sadness in them.

"I can't stay mad at _you." _Draco smirks a little, his lips curling up at the ends. As he utters the words, he takes a shuffling step towards you, so that the features you know so well, the arched brows, the thin hairline, the hollow cheeks are just inches from your own face. You can feel his breath on your lips.

"I…" you start to say. Out of nowhere, a door slams loudly, and you jump away from him. Pansy is standing in the threshold of your dormitory, her chest heaving, as if she has just run a marathon. She glares fiercely at you. "I have to go," you mutter, recollecting yourself. You dart past Pansy and quickly run out of the Slytherin common room.

_Dear God, what was that? Again, feeling attracted to Draco. No, Celia. No. You can't. Your best friend in the world. But those eyes, those lips, that hair…_

"Celia?" Some one says loudly. "Celia! Over here." You blink, breaking out of your reverie. Amongst the other students trying to get into the Great Hall, you can see Harry, standing on the Grand Staircase. He raises a hand in the air and waves it, trying to get your attention.

"Hi," you say brightly, once you've fought your way over to him.

"Wow," he breathes, looking you up and down. "You look…great. Really."

"Thank you," you reply, blushing deeply. "You're not so bad yourself." You reach out and straighten the white rose tucked carefully into his lapel.

"Hermione," he explains, gesturing to it with a roll of his eyes. "I hope you don't mind, we have to get inside. The Champions dance is going to take within a few minutes."

"I have to dance?" You ask, as Harry links your arm with his. He pats your hand as your face dawns an expression of pure horror.

"I'm not a dancer myself," he admits. "I'll let you lead. Kidding, Celia. But yes, we have to dance. Or McGongall would have my head. That would be unfortunate." At that exact moment, McGongall herself appears, looking slightly gentler than usual, dressed in long robes of dark purple.

"Potter, Validus," she snaps, her demeanor business-like. "Follow Krum and Miss Granger into the hall, please." Harry pulls you into a line behind Cedric and Cho, Fleur and Davies, and Hermione and Krum. "Ready?" McGongall asks of all of you. But no one gets an answer out, because Filch opens the doors to the Great Hall, signaling the beginning of the ball.

"Ready?" Harry asks, steering you inside. You don't answer, merely squeeze his arm slightly harder. He wheels you around to face him, and grabs your hand in his, interlacing your fingers together, holding your hands aloft. He settles his hand on your hip, and smirks at you. You glance around the Great Hall, searching for a familiar face. However, you see none, just sea of blank, staring faces. You suddenly feel like you might vomit, or faint. Possibly both. But you have no time to act upon this, the sixteen-piece orchestra placed in the left corner of the room strikes up a waltz.

"You're not bad," you tell Harry, minutes later, as he moves you across the dance floor.

"Maybe you're just a better dance partner than Ron was," he says with a laugh.

"I would hope so." You grin, then grimance as he trods on your foot.

"Ouch," you hiss, shaking your foot out.

"Sorry," he apologizes ruefully. You look over his shoulder to see Draco and Pansy, standing next to one of the bowls of punch. He says something and she laughs loudly, and then touches her hand to his arm. You feel something, anger maybe, or protectiveness, flare up inside you. Draco looks up and nearly catches your eye, but you avoid this by closing your eyes and looking back to Harry, who is studying you with those famous green eyes.

"If you really want to make him jealous," he says in a small voice, "you could just kiss me." He leans in towards you, and you can see a slight shadow on his jaw, where he's been shaving. He purses his lips and closes his eyes.

"What?" You sputter, pulling further away from him. "What are you talking about?"

"C'mon," he says, smiling, leaning in towards you again. "We both know you like Malfoy, Celia. You came here with me just so you could tick him off, and we both know I came with you because Cho was going with Cedric." You feel as if you've been slapped across the face.

"For your information," you spit, picking his hand off your waist. "I never agreed to go with you because of some one else. I did that for my, no, your benefit."

"Don't be ridiculous." Harry says in a low, soothing tone, as if trying to keep you quiet. "C'mon, let's dance. People are staring at you."

"Oh you're used to it," you say dramatically, gathering your long skirt and hoisting it above your ankles. "Screw off, Harry. Draco was right about you." You begin to fight your way out of the crowded, sweaty dancers, leaving Harry in the middle of the dance floor, alone. Once you reach the doors to the Great Hall, you begin to cry. Alarmed by the sound of your dry sobs, the couples who have moved out onto the stairs quickly flock away, headed for more private places. You sink down onto one of the previously occupied stairs, and take off your shoes. _Of course he didn't want you, _you tell yourself. _What would Harry Potter want with me? What would any boy want with me, for that matter?_ You bury your face in your hands, and when you draw them away, they're stained with mascara and eyeliner. You sniffle, and a pair of shoes cloud your vision. Some one sits down next to you, and you don't look at them, but you know who's there.

"What did he do?" Draco asks menacingly. You don't say anything, but rather, lean into his shoulder and cry. He puts an arm around you as you sob into his crisp white shirt, no doubt ruining it.

"You should get back to Pansy," you say finally, drawing away.

"She's dancing with Nott," he replies shortly, pointing towards the direction of the Great Hall. "She'll be fine. I'm more concerned about you."

"He tried to kiss me," you say, your voice aching after crying. "And I didn't want to…."

"That bastard," Draco nearly shouts, standing up.

"No, please," you say, tugging him down.

"I'm going to kill him," Draco threatens.

"That's fine," you say with a short, humorless chuckle. "But would you first mind walking me to the common room? I'm tired and I don't want to stay here any longer."

"Sure," he says immediately, offering you his hand. The two of you walk down to the dungeons, you leaning in slightly towards him, and again, Draco is acting like a shield to you, hovering over you, protecting you. When you reach the Slytherin stretch of wall, where the door to the common room is, he pats you on the arm as he begins to head back up to the ball.

"For the record, Celia, you looked really pretty tonight."

"Thank you," you accept, touched by his attitude. Draco nods, places his hands in his pockets, and heads back to Pansy, not looking back, not even once.

~Year: 2009

"So what happens?" Daphne badgers you the next day. You're sitting in the common room, attempting to concentrate on a game of Wizard's Chess with Zabini, but Daphne keeps interrupting. Pansy is holed up by herself in the dorm, while Draco mysteriously disappeared early in the morning to "go do homework."

"I already told you," you say rather nastily, prodding forth one of your knights, which slays one of Zabini's pieces. "Nothing happened." As you say this, you can't help but notice that the group crowded close to you seems to be listening in.

"Bull," you hear Theodore Nott whisper, and your suspicions are confirmed.

"Tell us the truth," Blaise presses eagerly, throwing away all subtly.

"Bugger off, the lot of you," you say grumpily, getting up to leave.

"Ooh," Daphne whispers in an annoying tone. You look towards the door, and Draco has wandered in, looking determined but tired. It seems like the whole room freezes just to watch the two of you. Draco, when he sees you, stops in his tracks. He blushes slightly, then begins to make his way over to your group. You clear your throat loudly.

"Hi, every one," he says, sitting down in the easy chair next to yours. Apprehensively, you ease into your own chair, then glare at your classmates, daring them to say anything.

"Any one going to Hogsmeade this weekend?" Daphne asks, seeing your expressions and swiftly directing the conversation.

"I have to," Draco volunteers. "I lost my potions book…mudblood Granger probably took it, trying to get notes on how to be top in class again." The collective group snickers loudly.

"I have to get some more potions supplies," you say once the laughter has died down. "Draco spilled all of mine." His skin tints slightly, he's blushing.

"Probably spilled it in his attempt to get away from Pansy," Nott cracks, causing the group to laugh again.

"Settle down," Draco admonishes, though, admittedly, with a wide smirk on his face.

"I have to get going," you say, standing up a few moments later. You avoid looking at Draco's face, which is studying you all too-knowingly, and fumble with the straps on your book bag. "I have ancient runes in fifteen minutes." No one says anything, but instead, every one looks at Draco, as if waiting for him to reply. It's like they're watching a television program.

"I'll walk you," he says suddenly, standing up as well.

"That's okay," you reply rather coolly. "I know the way."

He clears his throat and looks at you seriously. "I'll walk you." You huff and begin to walk away from the group. As soon as Draco steps away, you begin to hear them whisper, most likely forming their thoughts around the two of you.

"What is it?" You ask him as soon as you walk out the door. "I think it would be best if we didn't really talk for a while. It makes things...more difficult, for me at least." Draco seems to tremble as a whole.

"I've been given a message for you," he tells you, ignoring your last statement. He pulls out a scroll from his pocket and hands it to you. It's a creamy parchment, wrapped with a purple satin ribbon. You slide the parchment out of the ribbon and unfold it.

_Dear Celia, _it says in spidery handwriting,

_I am writing on behalf of the followers of the Dark Lord. You know, by now, the plan of the Dark Lord. Though you may be worried, (like Narcissa), this is a great honor for Draco. We wish that it would also be a great victory for you. It is his wishes that you, also, partake in this mission._

_We will meet next holiday to discuss your involvement and Progress._

_Bellatrix_

"They can't be serious," you say in a shaky voice, scanning the letter once more. "Me, too?"

"I told her," he begins to say hesitantly, then shakes his head. "You don't really have to. I'll just say you helped."

"No," you reply with a shake of your head. "I…I have to finish what my parents started. This is what they would have wanted."

"I think they would have wanted to see you happy," Draco corrects.

"Well," you answer, your voice thick. "We both know what that would be." He hangs his head. "We can't always have what we want, Draco"


	15. Chapter 15

~Year: 2007

"How in the bloody hell," Draco begins, stomping over the threshold to your house. "Did I become a prefect?"

"It's your modesty, I expect," you say smartly, closing the door behind him. You pick your own letter from off the table in the entryway. The silver badge drifts from the folds of the parchment.

"Ah, no, not you too?" Draco whines. "I was hoping we wouldn't be expected to behave ourselves this year."

"When has that ever stopped you?" You reply, holding the badge up to the light streaming through the windows and examine the symbol etched on the front of it.

"Always true." Draco smirks. "You know me too well."

"More than I would wish on any poor soul." You laugh. "Come on, I was just about to have lunch. Do you want anything?" The two of you begin to stroll down to your kitchen.

"Mm, no, I'm not hungry," Draco says, tucking his Prefect's letter into the breast pocket of his robes. You pull an extra fork out of the silverware drawer anyway, because you know that Draco always steals bites of your food when he claims not to be hungry.

"That will be all!" You hear a voice say loudly from the hallway.

"What's that?" Draco asks, turning around in his chair, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm not sure," you reply. You hear the sounds of a squabble, like people are fighting. You peak through the keyhole of the kitchen door to see your parents, standing in the presence of Regulus Black. He looks mad, his hair is standing on end, and his wand is raised in the air. Draco kneels down at the other door and looks through the keyhole as well.

"What's he doing here?" He says aloud, so quietly though, that no one but you can hear.

"Please, Regulus," your mother says, and to you, it sounds almost as if she is begging. "Don't do this. We really could not stand it, knowing this will be on our conscience."

"Be prudent," your father urges Regulus, whose eyes bug out almost comically at the suggestion.

"Get out of my way," he snarls at your parents, and he walks out of your house.

"We better warn Him," you father murmurs to your mother.

"Maybe give Regulus some time," your mother says reasonably. "He's just a boy, Robert, not even twenty-five. He'll come around sometime."

"Let's hope it's sooner, rather than later."

You step back from the keyhole.

"What was that about?" Draco asks, looking perplexed, as he rocks back on his knees.

"I really don't know," you say with a frown. You remove the steak-and-kidney pie from the oven and set it on the stovetop. "He's been over quite a bit, Regulus."

"He's stopped coming over to the meetings on Tuesday," Draco notices. You shudder. Every Tuesday evening, your parents, along with the rest of the Death Eaters, met at the Malfoy's house to talk to the Dark Lord. During this time, you and Draco were required to stay in his room and not come out, but the two of you had eavesdropped your fair share on the meetings. "The Dark Lord thinks he is leaving."

"Impossible," you reply, putting a small potion of the pie on a plate and carrying it over to the table, where Draco sits. "He would have to be really, really, thick."

"Maybe he is," Draco supplies, immediately taking a bite of your lunch.

The door to the kitchen swings open, to reveal your mother, looking slightly scattered.

"Oh, hello darling," she greets you, kissing the top of your forehead. She absent-mindedly pats your cheek. "Hello, Draco. I heard the news from your mother this morning. Congratulations on making prefect." Draco mumbles a rather grumpy 'thank-you' under his breath.

"That reminds me," your mother says, turning to you. "Narcissa is having a dinner honoring the two of you tonight. Wear something nice…that new dress, perhaps?" And she breezes out of the kitchen without another word.

"Do I have to go?" You grumble to Draco. "You know I hate those dinners."

"Well, if your mum says so." He takes another bite of your pie. "And you know I hate them too. Bloody sordid affairs."

And true to her word, your mother did, in fact, make you go to the Malfoy's that night. You entered the Manor's dining room to see a room full of people, mostly your parents friends, and a large banner that had yours and Draco's name on it.

"Piss it," you mutter, glancing around the room for Draco. He's sitting in the corner, by himself, nursing a glass of oak-matured mead. Pansy Parkinson stands close by, chatting with one of your parent's friends, laughing loudly and picking at some food she has in the palm of her hand.

"It's awful, isn't it?" Draco asks as you sit next to him. He shows you the food he's stowed in his napkin. "Looks like shit." His breath smells strongly of mead and his eyes are slightly blood-shot.

"I think that's enough for you," you say lightly, taking the glass from him. He opens his mouth to reply, but closes it. He closes his eyes too, and slumps down a little on the love-seat. He opens his eyes dreamily, and his mouth curves into a close-mouthed smile.

"You look so pretty, Celia," he notices, tugging on a piece of your hair with clumsy, drunken hands.

"That is definitely enough." You place the empty glass on the dining room table and wrap your arm around his waist, and place his on your shoulder. You stand up, dragging him along with you.

"Where are we going?" He asks you, stumbling slightly on the Persian carpet.

"We are going to get you some fresh air." You almost collapse as he trips on a stair, but quickly get him out of the room before any one can notice his state. "You know," you say, as you open the door to the Manor. "I don't think I've ever seen you like this before."

"Well it's a night for celebration," Draco laughs, nearly falling on you. You deposit him on the stairs of the Manor, and he lays down, his blonde head uncomfortably propped between the stone stairs. "I'm a fucking prefect, and Pansy Parkinson is now my girlfriend." He laughs with uncontrolled mirth.

"When did that happen?" You ask quietly.

"Now now, Celia," Draco continues, patting you on the cheek. "I know you don't approve of her." He falls quiet, too, and for a moment, the only sounds are that of the guests inside, and the slight chirping of bugs. "I guess it was about time," he sighs. "She would've had a heart attack if I had waited any longer." You look out over the garden and say nothing, knotting your fingers together. For some reason, your heart feels heavy.

"I wish I hadn't, really," he confesses. You turn to look at him, and he sits up. "I can tell you don't like her," he says with drunken frankness. You force a smile onto your face.

"No, Draco. I think it's great you two are finally together." He raises an eyebrow. "Really, I do. Congratulations." And you go in to kiss him on the cheek. But at the last moment, Draco turns his head, pressing his lips to yours. You jerk back. He grins lazily at you, as if nothing has happened.

"I better go back inside," you say, standing up, your palms sweating.

"Don't leave me alone," Draco moans, curling up on the stairs. But you ignore him, walking back into the Manor as fast as you can. _It's nothing, Celia, _you tell yourself. _A Drunken kiss, what does it mean? Nothing. That's all it is, a drunken kiss. _But when you begin to cry, you realize why you're upset. You wanted your first kiss to be something special, with some one you truly care for, not a drunken incident with your best friend.

~Year: 2009

"What have you got so far?" You ask Draco quietly. The two of you are sitting at the nearly empty Slytherin table in the Great Hall, pouring over notes and charts Draco has drawn up the night before. He yawns and rubs the dark circles under his eyes.

"The cabinet needs to be repaired," he replies finally. "I can't…I don't know how, yet."

"I can look up the incantations," you say, writing the note down in your leather-bound planner. "They will be extremely difficult. We'll need people on the other side, to help."

"Right." Draco looks relieved. Your determination has seemed shaken him slightly from the stupor he's been stuck in for the past few days. He's regained some color, and has been able to concentrate on schoolwork, for a change. You begin to pack away the books and papers that litter the table, and Draco places his hand over yours.

"Thank you," he says seriously. His eyes bore into yours, making you feel exposed, vulnerable even. "I appreciate your help."

"It's not like I really have a choice." You pull your hand out from under his and continue to pack away your belongings. Draco sits quietly, his hand still sitting on the spot where you had taken yours away.

"Celia, can't you-"

"No," you snap angrily. You stand up and swing your leg over the bench, exiting the Great Hall.

"Oi, Celia!"

"For fuck's sake," you say under your breath. "I told you no, Draco." You turn around to see Harry standing behind you, looking bewildered. "Oh," you amend. "Sorry."

"I was just coming to see you," Harry murmurs, blushing.

"What do you want?" You say, with unnecessary venom, and then soften. "I am sorry, I've been having a bit of a terrible morning is all."

Harry looks apprehensive now, as if he was wishing he hadn't approached you in the first place.

"I…um…I was wondering what you're doing Saturday? If you're going into Hogsmeade or not?"

You don't answer right away. Instead, out of the corner of your eye, you watch Draco rise up from the Slytherin table. He runs a hand through his hair, and then turns to look at you. He freezes when he sees you talking to Harry.

"I think so," you tell Harry, smiling at him. He grins stupidly, his gum nearly falling out of his mouth. "So are you just wondering, or are you going to ask me on a proper date?"

"Oh, right," he answers, standing taller. "Would you like to go into Hogsmeade with me?"

"Okay," you relent.

"Cool," he says, still smiling. He seems to recognize he looks like a bit of an idiot, so he clears his throat and adopts a business-like manner. "Right. So…I'll see you around." And he dashes out of the doors to the castle. You let out a little bubble of a laugh, and then look back into the Great Hall. Draco stands next to the Slytherin table still, holding his rucksack in one hand. Before you can move, he briskly approaches you.

"Don't say anything," you advise him.

"Are you serious, Celia?" He starts in anyway. "Give who you are?" He lowers his voice. "Who you're working for? And you're going to go out with Potter. Tell me you're joking."

"I'm not," you reply, tightening your grip on your books. "That's not the real reason you're mad, is it?"

"Yes it is," he insists. He points towards the doors through which Harry has just departed. "You're can't go out with…" he struggles to find a word. "_That."_

"I can and I will," you say angrily, your voice rising. "And unless you do something about it, that's what is happening." When Draco says nothing, you feel two emotions fight to consume you, disappointment, and victory. "Good. Now we can focus on what's really important."

"WE are important," Draco replies, his voice loud.

"We can't be," you remind him. "We have a job to do. We can't let…_feelings_ get in the way. Even if they are as strong as I think they are."

"I love you," he says desperately. "Don't do this."

"I'm sorry," you answer quietly. "It's self-preservation."


	16. Chapter 16

~Year: 2007

"How in the bloody hell," Draco begins, stomping over the threshold to your house. "Did I become a prefect?"

"It's your modesty, I expect," you say smartly, closing the door behind him. You pick your own letter from off the table in the entryway. The silver badge drifts from the folds of the parchment.

"Ah, no, not you too?" Draco whines. "I was hoping we wouldn't be expected to behave ourselves this year."

"When has that ever stopped you?" You reply, holding the badge up to the light streaming through the windows and examine the symbol etched on the front of it.

"Always true." Draco smirks. "You know me too well."

"More than I would wish on any poor soul." You laugh. "Come on, I was just about to have lunch. Do you want anything?" The two of you begin to stroll down to your kitchen.

"Mm, no, I'm not hungry," Draco says, tucking his Prefect's letter into the breast pocket of his robes. You pull an extra fork out of the silverware drawer anyway, because you know that Draco always steals bites of your food when he claims not to be hungry.

"That will be all!" You hear a voice say loudly from the hallway.

"What's that?" Draco asks, turning around in his chair, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm not sure," you reply. You hear the sounds of a squabble, like people are fighting. You peak through the keyhole of the kitchen door to see your parents, standing in the presence of Regulus Black. He looks mad, his hair is standing on end, and his wand is raised in the air. Draco kneels down at the other door and looks through the keyhole as well.

"What's he doing here?" He says aloud, so quietly though, that no one but you can hear.

"Please, Regulus," your mother says, and to you, it sounds almost as if she is begging. "Don't do this. We really could not stand it, knowing this will be on our conscience."

"Be prudent," your father urges Regulus, whose eyes bug out almost comically at the suggestion.

"Get out of my way," he snarls at your parents, and he walks out of your house.

"We better warn Him," you father murmurs to your mother.

"Maybe give Regulus some time," your mother says reasonably. "He's just a boy, Robert, not even twenty-five. He'll come around sometime."

"Let's hope it's sooner, rather than later."

You step back from the keyhole.

"What was that about?" Draco asks, looking perplexed, as he rocks back on his knees.

"I really don't know," you say with a frown. You remove the steak-and-kidney pie from the oven and set it on the stovetop. "He's been over quite a bit, Regulus."

"He's stopped coming over to the meetings on Tuesday," Draco notices. You shudder. Every Tuesday evening, your parents, along with the rest of the Death Eaters, met at the Malfoy's house to talk to the Dark Lord. During this time, you and Draco were required to stay in his room and not come out, but the two of you had eavesdropped your fair share on the meetings. "The Dark Lord thinks he is leaving."

"Impossible," you reply, putting a small potion of the pie on a plate and carrying it over to the table, where Draco sits. "He would have to be really, really, thick."

"Maybe he is," Draco supplies, immediately taking a bite of your lunch.

The door to the kitchen swings open, to reveal your mother, looking slightly scattered.

"Oh, hello darling," she greets you, kissing the top of your forehead. She absent-mindedly pats your cheek. "Hello, Draco. I heard the news from your mother this morning. Congratulations on making prefect." Draco mumbles a rather grumpy 'thank-you' under his breath.

"That reminds me," your mother says, turning to you. "Narcissa is having a dinner honoring the two of you tonight. Wear something nice…that new dress, perhaps?" And she breezes out of the kitchen without another word.

"Do I have to go?" You grumble to Draco. "You know I hate those dinners."

"Well, if your mum says so." He takes another bite of your pie. "And you know I hate them too. Bloody sordid affairs."

And true to her word, your mother did, in fact, make you go to the Malfoy's that night. You entered the Manor's dining room to see a room full of people, mostly your parents friends, and a large banner that had yours and Draco's name on it.

"Piss it," you mutter, glancing around the room for Draco. He's sitting in the corner, by himself, nursing a glass of oak-matured mead. Pansy Parkinson stands close by, chatting with one of your parent's friends, laughing loudly and picking at some food she has in the palm of her hand.

"It's awful, isn't it?" Draco asks as you sit next to him. He shows you the food he's stowed in his napkin. "Looks like shit." His breath smells strongly of mead and his eyes are slightly blood-shot.

"I think that's enough for you," you say lightly, taking the glass from him. He opens his mouth to reply, but closes it. He closes his eyes too, and slumps down a little on the love-seat. He opens his eyes dreamily, and his mouth curves into a close-mouthed smile.

"You look so pretty, Celia," he notices, tugging on a piece of your hair with clumsy, drunken hands.

"That is definitely enough." You place the empty glass on the dining room table and wrap your arm around his waist, and place his on your shoulder. You stand up, dragging him along with you.

"Where are we going?" He asks you, stumbling slightly on the Persian carpet.

"We are going to get you some fresh air." You almost collapse as he trips on a stair, but quickly get him out of the room before any one can notice his state. "You know," you say, as you open the door to the Manor. "I don't think I've ever seen you like this before."

"Well it's a night for celebration," Draco laughs, nearly falling on you. You deposit him on the stairs of the Manor, and he lays down, his blonde head uncomfortably propped between the stone stairs. "I'm a fucking prefect, and Pansy Parkinson is now my girlfriend." He laughs with uncontrolled mirth.

"When did that happen?" You ask quietly.

"Now now, Celia," Draco continues, patting you on the cheek. "I know you don't approve of her." He falls quiet, too, and for a moment, the only sounds are that of the guests inside, and the slight chirping of bugs. "I guess it was about time," he sighs. "She would've had a heart attack if I had waited any longer." You look out over the garden and say nothing, knotting your fingers together. For some reason, your heart feels heavy.

"I wish I hadn't, really," he confesses. You turn to look at him, and he sits up. "I can tell you don't like her," he says with drunken frankness. You force a smile onto your face.

"No, Draco. I think it's great you two are finally together." He raises an eyebrow. "Really, I do. Congratulations." And you go in to kiss him on the cheek. But at the last moment, Draco turns his head, pressing his lips to yours. You jerk back. He grins lazily at you, as if nothing has happened.

"I better go back inside," you say, standing up, your palms sweating.

"Don't leave me alone," Draco moans, curling up on the stairs. But you ignore him, walking back into the Manor as fast as you can. _It's nothing, Celia, _you tell yourself. _A Drunken kiss, what does it mean? Nothing. That's all it is, a drunken kiss. _But when you begin to cry, you realize why you're upset. You wanted your first kiss to be something special, with some one you truly care for, not a drunken incident with your best friend.

~Year: 2009

"What have you got so far?" You ask Draco quietly. The two of you are sitting at the nearly empty Slytherin table in the Great Hall, pouring over notes and charts Draco has drawn up the night before. He yawns and rubs the dark circles under his eyes.

"The cabinet needs to be repaired," he replies finally. "I can't…I don't know how, yet."

"I can look up the incantations," you say, writing the note down in your leather-bound planner. "They will be extremely difficult. We'll need people on the other side, to help."

"Right." Draco looks relieved. Your determination has seemed shaken him slightly from the stupor he's been stuck in for the past few days. He's regained some color, and has been able to concentrate on schoolwork, for a change. You begin to pack away the books and papers that litter the table, and Draco places his hand over yours.

"Thank you," he says seriously. His eyes bore into yours, making you feel exposed, vulnerable even. "I appreciate your help."

"It's not like I really have a choice." You pull your hand out from under his and continue to pack away your belongings. Draco sits quietly, his hand still sitting on the spot where you had taken yours away.

"Celia, can't you-"

"No," you snap angrily. You stand up and swing your leg over the bench, exiting the Great Hall.

"Oi, Celia!"

"For fuck's sake," you say under your breath. "I told you no, Draco." You turn around to see Harry standing behind you, looking bewildered. "Oh," you amend. "Sorry."

"I was just coming to see you," Harry murmurs, blushing.

"What do you want?" You say, with unnecessary venom, and then soften. "I am sorry, I've been having a bit of a terrible morning is all."

Harry looks apprehensive now, as if he was wishing he hadn't approached you in the first place.

"I…um…I was wondering what you're doing Saturday? If you're going into Hogsmeade or not?"

You don't answer right away. Instead, out of the corner of your eye, you watch Draco rise up from the Slytherin table. He runs a hand through his hair, and then turns to look at you. He freezes when he sees you talking to Harry.

"I think so," you tell Harry, smiling at him. He grins stupidly, his gum nearly falling out of his mouth. "So are you just wondering, or are you going to ask me on a proper date?"

"Oh, right," he answers, standing taller. "Would you like to go into Hogsmeade with me?"

"Okay," you relent.

"Cool," he says, still smiling. He seems to recognize he looks like a bit of an idiot, so he clears his throat and adopts a business-like manner. "Right. So…I'll see you around." And he dashes out of the doors to the castle. You let out a little bubble of a laugh, and then look back into the Great Hall. Draco stands next to the Slytherin table still, holding his rucksack in one hand. Before you can move, he briskly approaches you.

"Don't say anything," you advise him.

"Are you serious, Celia?" He starts in anyway. "Give who you are?" He lowers his voice. "Who you're working for? And you're going to go out with Potter. Tell me you're joking."

"I'm not," you reply, tightening your grip on your books. "That's not the real reason you're mad, is it?"

"Yes it is," he insists. He points towards the doors through which Harry has just departed. "You're can't go out with…" he struggles to find a word. "_That."_

"I can and I will," you say angrily, your voice rising. "And unless you do something about it, that's what is happening." When Draco says nothing, you feel two emotions fight to consume you, disappointment, and victory. "Good. Now we can focus on what's really important."

"WE are important," Draco replies, his voice loud.

"We can't be," you remind him. "We have a job to do. We can't let…_feelings_ get in the way. Even if they are as strong as I think they are."

"I love you," he says desperately. "Don't do this."

"I'm sorry," you answer quietly. "It's self-preservation."


	17. Chapter 17

~Year 2007-2008

"Celia, Darling!" You begin to stumble off the train from school, and just as you do, you feel a pair of hands close around you, grabbing you in a tight hug.

"Hi, mum," you reply, patting her on the back, your arm bent at an awkward angle.

"Hi Sweetheart," your father beams, grabbing your suitcase.

"You look too thin," your mother accuses, taking your hands in hers and pinching one of your cheeks. You feel your face flush in embarrassment. "Do they feed you enough at that god-forsaken school? Hmm? No matter, we'll go get some lunch, eh?" Your parents wrap their arms tightly around your shoulders and begin to steer you away from the hustle of the station, past the other students, so quickly that you barely have time to bid some of them a: "Happy Christmas."

"Wait," you protest, craning your neck over the curve of your father's arm, trying to catch a glimpse behind you, but your mother tightens her grip on you, pulling you away faster. "Hold on, mum. Draco has some of my things."

"Oh, well…" your mother pauses, then presses onward, dragging you along with her. "It's no matter. You can pick them up some time this week."

"I-" You protest, but it's too late, your parents have pulled you through the barrier to the muggle world.

Although your mother promised you would get your belongings (A box of parchment, a luxury quill, and your Defense Against the Dark Arts Textbook) back from Draco, your parents seem reluctant to let you slip away from the house. In fact, you feel as if every one in your home, the houselves, the other servants, and especially your parents, keeps an annoyingly close watch on you. You can hardly walk down a hallway without hearing some one behind you or in the next room. For godssake, one of the houselves stood outside the loo door while you were taking a whiz.

"Mum," you asked on the morning of Christmas eve, stringing pieces of popcorn onto a long string. "Are we going to the Malfoy's tonight? It is tradition after all."

"Why wouldn't we?" your mother asks lightly. You're taken aback by her tone, and your hand slips, and you stab yourself in the thumb with the sewing needle. You yank it out from your flesh and suck the small bead of blood forming on the surface.

"I…I don't know," you reply, continuing to thread the popcorn. "It's just…we haven't been out yet this holiday. I haven't been able to even get my textbooks back from Draco."

"Yes, well," your mother says, flustered. "We're going tonight. Wear that silver dress of yours, hmm? It's very festive."

And so, by eight 'o clock sharp, your parents and you stood on the top step of the marble stairs outside Malfoy Manor, dressed in your Christmas best.

[Your dress: (.org/toah/images/h2/h2_1999.328.)].

"Don't you look lovely," Narcissa beams, opening the door and elbowing the Malfoy's house elf out of the way.

"Hello, Narcissa," your mother beams right back, presenting her with a bottle of mulled wine.

"Come in," Narcissa urges the three of you, taking your jacket. "Celia, darling, Draco is upstairs getting ready before the rest of the family arrives. You wouldn't mind getting him, would you?"

"Go on," your father says half-heartedly, pushing you up the spiral staircase towards Draco's room. You clomp down the hallway, swaying slightly in the high-heels your mother had asked you to wear.

"Draco?" You call out, knocking on his bedroom door. There's no answer from within, and so you push open the door. Draco is standing in front of his mirror, which stands next to the doors that lead to his balcony. He's in the middle of putting on a black-button down shirt.

"Hi, Celia," he says quietly, beginning to button his shirt. You drop your hand from the knob of his door, trying hard not to stare at his stomach, where you can see the clear definition of his muscles.

"Hi," you say, swallowing.

"Haven't seen you for a while," he says, frowning. He nods to his desk, where your textbook lies, next to a picture of Pansy.

"This is new," you say, picking up the frame.

"Oh, yeah," he replies, noticing what you're looking at. "Her Christmas present to me." You set it down lightly, and then notice he has a picture of the two of you, maybe around 4 years old, his front teeth missing, your arm slung around his shoulders, standing outside the Leaky Cauldron, your blonde heads gleaming in the sunlight. You smile as the four-year old you tightens your arm around Draco's neck, and he coughs and gives you a noogie in retaliation.

"D'you think you could help me?" Draco's voice suddenly rings out. You turn to see him trying to fix his tie. "I'm not used to actually wearing one," he admits, smirking. You shake your head and cross the distance between the two of you, and then raise your hands to help him knot his tie.

"There," you say after a few moments, smoothing the soft silk of the tie, flattening it against his chest.

"Hey," he says quietly, looking up. You look up as well, and see a small group of faries, escaped from the Malfoy's garden, giggling. They sport a small sprig of Misletoe over your heads, and squeal excitedly when you notice their presence.

"Merry Christmas," you say with a smile. Your stomach churning, you stand on your tip-toes and kiss Draco lightly on the cheek. The faries chuckle and drop the branch, which floats down to the floor.

"C'mon," Draco says, clearing his throat. He links your arm with his. "Mum bought the best elf-made wine in the village, we might be able to sneak a glass."

After Christmas passes, the week seems to fly by, so fast, in fact, that before you know it, it's December 31st.

"Can you believe it's already the thirty-first?" Your mother asks your father over lunch that day, sipping a goblet of gillywater.

"No," your father answers simply, scraping his fork across his plate to clear up the last scraps of his bangers and mash.

"Mum, Dad," you begin, piping up. "I was hoping I could go out tonight."

"Out where?" Your father immediately asks.

"With whom?" Your mother queries.

"Draco and I are going down to the Village with a few of the lads," you say. "Goyle and Zabini probably."

"I don't think so," your mother says, glancing at your father.

"Now, Alice, I think she'll be alright," your father assures her.

"Mum, please," you ask. "I don't know why you're so afraid of letting me go out."

Your mother sputters a little, choking on her gillywater. "Afraid? No, not afraid. Go on, then, Celia. But stick with the boys. And just to the Village. That's it. And you had better be home by one."

"God, mum," you say, annoyed by her tone. "I'm not five years old. I can take care of myself, alright?" You shoot your chair out from the table and walk briskly to your room, fuming. That night, when the sky is pitch-black and the clock says it's nearly ten 'o clock, you put on a pair of jeans, a pair of your high-heeled boots, and a lace camisole. You straighten your hair and put on your eye make-up on smoky and rather heavy, and then hurry downstairs-you can see Draco, Goyle and Blaise walking up to the door.

"Celia," your mother says as you run by her, grabbing your purse as you go. "That shirt is much too low, where on earth did you get that? And those boots-" You ignore her, still fuming from before, and run out the front door, slamming it behind you.

"Ready," you say loudly, as way of greeting to the three boys, nearly knocking them over as you approach them. None of them say anything, rather, they notice your annoyed demeanor, and fall quiet. Blaise, however, creep that he is, allows his eyes to roam over you, admiring the way your hair falls over your shoulders, the way the jeans land on your slim legs, the way the camisole hugs the curve of your breasts. "C'mon," you say, rolling your eyes, and walking in front of them. "Let's get out of here." As the four of you leave, no one notices the man crouched by the willow tree across the road. He raises his wand at your back for a moment, then lowers it, his dark eyes burning dangerously. He looks toward your house, where the lights are still on, and leers.

Two hours later, after a few rounds of drinks in a small pub, a stoll through the public park, and running across a small, frozen lake, it's nearing midnight.

"You know," Blaise comments as you sit down on a park bench and wait for the fire works to begin. "It's a tradition to kiss some one at midnight."

"That right?" Goyle asks slowly, pulling a fag from his pocket and lighting it. He takes a long drag, and then coughs on the smoke. You grab the fag and crush it beneath the heel of your boot.

"Filthy muggle habit," you say, and Goyle sulks.

"C'mon, Celia," Blaise says, sitting down next to you, and casually weaving his arm around your back. "Kiss me at midnight."

You glance at his handsome, yet frowning face, and then up at Draco, who is pretending not to have heard. In a flash, you remember the picture of Pansy on Draco's desk. And then the picture of you two, your arms around each other. And you remember when you kissed him on the cheek.

"Piss off," you answer, standing up as the fireworks begin to start.

"Worth a try," Blaise says, and Goyle snickers, taking out another cigarette from his pocket.

"Draco," you say, disgusted by Blaise. "Walk me home, will you?"

"Sure," he replies, and the two of you begin to wander away, causing Blaise and Goyle to laugh just as hard.

"They were just messing around, you know," Draco says quietly as the two of you turn onto the country road, headed towards your house.

"I know." You sigh. "But, as much as I don't want to say it, Blaise really creeps me out." Draco smirks.

"That's to be expected." He knocks his elbow against yours. "You look good tonight, Celia. You know you do."

"I tried," you admit. Then you grin. "My mum hated it. Thought I looked skanky, I daresay."

"I don't…" Draco starts to reply, but then stops in his tracks, his lower jaw dropping, quivering slightly.

"Oh shit, I do, don't I?" You ask, looking down at yourself.

"Celia," Draco says suddenly, grabbing your arm. Alarmed at his urgency, you turn to see what he's looking at. You make a sudden movement, as if you're about to run, but Draco wraps his arms around you, holding you to him, restraining you from moving any further. Your house is on fire, the stone crumbling into the high-rising flames. A shrill scream sounds out through the night, a sound you recognize. The scream is your mother's.

"NO!" You screech and struggle against Draco's grip. "My mum is trapped in there! LET ME GO."

"We'll get help," Draco promises, beginning to drag you towards his house. He begins to scream for his parents, his voice ringing out against the nighttime, reverberating over the meadows. You get a last glimpse at the flaming house before everything goes black.

~Year: 2009

"You two have to be careful," Professor Snape whispers two weeks later, urgently hovering in a dark hallway near the charms classroom. "The necklace was a stupid idea, Draco. It could have been easily traced back to you, Draco. As for you, Miss Validus, I would hope your working harder and more diligently than Mr. Malfoy."

You say nothing, and instead sink a little lower in your chair, withering under the gaze of the Professor. You glance towards Draco, who looks straight ahead, refusing to look directly at you.

"Yes, Professor," you say quietly. Snape glares at the two of you, and then leans back in his chair. He makes a sweeping gesture with his hand, as if clearing you two from the room just like that. You and Draco hop up from your chairs and leave Snape's office, slamming the door behind you.

"Way to go," Draco hisses. "I'm sure your little tirades with Potter aren't helping our situation."

"And your distraction with that cow, Parkinson is just fine?" You ask, flaring up. The two of you round a corner and come into better light.

"She's got nothing to do with this. She's not Potter." Draco spits out Harry's name like it's a dirty curse word, the most despicable, loathsome thing he can think of.

"Oh give it a rest," you say, rounding another corner so sharply you nearly run him into a wall. "You're just pissed because Snape reprimanded you."

Draco and you dash up the staircase towards the Great Hall, and then turn, running towards the second floor.

"Maybe I don't like to hear that my best friend is dating Potter from fucking Crabbe and Goyle, for chrissake," he whispers now, to avoid the stares of the other students, most heading back to their dormitories or to the library.

"It's no one's concern but mine," you tell him. "Besides, you didn't seem so unhappy when you were sucking Pansy's face off. And further, you could have come to talk to me about it, instead of avoiding me for the past two weeks."

"And how was I supposed to do that?" Draco asks as the two of you walk up another flight of stairs. "Potter's always hanging around, looking for a snog…"

"I told you to leave it," you cry, goaded past endurance. But as you say this, Draco's words show to be true. Harry's waiting outside the seventh floor corridor, waiting for you.

"Christ," Draco says angrily, pushing past the two of you and headed down the corridor, knocking younger students out of his way in his haste.

"Hi, Celia," Harry pushes himself off the wall he's leaning on and kisses you on the mouth. You smile as he does so, and press your hands to his face, cupping his jaw in your hands. You've learned, over these past two weeks, to appreciate the way Harry kisses you. Or rather, you tolerate it, though it's nothing compared to the way Draco has kissed you. "Wow," Harry says, releasing you, and you lean back and smile, fixing his collar.

"What are you doing here?" You ask him. You check your watch. "Don't you have Quidditch in a few moments?"

"I wanted to see you first. I knew that you spent time up here." He peers curiously at you. "What were you and Malfoy doing up here anyway?"

"I…" You're not sure what to say, seeing as what you do in the room on the seventh floor consists mostly of the two of you trying to find a way to kill one of the most powerful Wizards in the world. "Studying. There's a study room 'round the corner, you know, quiet."

"Right," Harry says. He looks slightly bemused by your answer, but quickly changes his expression. He smiles down at you.

"I should probably get along," you say pointedly. "And you have Quidditch practice."

"I could skive off," Harry says hopefully, placing his hand around your waist.

"I wish I could," you reply, placing your hand on the side of his face, You trace one of his dark eyebrows, and then reach down and pluck off his glasses.

"Ah, no, you can't do that," Harry moans, his hands flying up to his face.

"Why not?" You ask, kissing his thin, pink lips. He responds to your touch at once, pressing you against the wall, and you raise your hand, holding his glasses out of his reach.

"Ah, I thought my seducing you would get me my glasses back," Harry manages to pull his glasses from your grip, and he slips them back on.

"No," you say teasingly. A group of girls walk by, and seeing your and Harry's embrace, glare coldly at you.

"I'll get going then," Harry says, kissing you once more.

"Get going," you say mockingly, and then walk away before he can reply. When you're sure that you're alone, you walk into the room of requirement, where Draco is patiently waiting. "Have you tried it then?" You ask tiredly.

"I put the book in there. We'll see." Draco brings out a bottle from behind his back. "In the meantime, we can use this."

"Mead?" you ask suspiciously, crossing your arms.

"Poisoned Mead," Draco replies, setting it down on a side table, where it sits dangerously, the least dangerous-looking thing in the whole room.

"So now we wait," you say, sitting down by a dresser, slumping to the floor and throwing your book bag aside.

"We wait," Draco agrees sullenly, his pale, pointed face gleaming in the dark shadows of the room.

By eight, the book still hasn't come back in the cabinet. You wait, studying in silence, for another hour. The book still doesn't return. You keep waiting, until the clock chimes midnight. Draco jerks out of a light snooze, and you blink and yawn.

"Still not here?" He asks, opening the doors to the cabinet.

"No," you reply. You place your hands under your head and stretch out on the floor.

"You're going to sleep here, then?" Draco asks, stretching.

"You are too," you remind him. "We both have to be here."

"I wasn't planning on leaving," he says quietly, gazing at you with a stare that's far too intense for your liking. You turn your back on him and try to settle on the stone floor, feeling the tiles dig into your skin.

"Just tell me one thing," Draco says into the darkness. "Out of any one in the school. Why Potter?"

You're don't answer for a moment. Instead, you mull over all the possibilities that could possibly suffice to be an answer. _Harry has nice eyes. He's smart. He can be funny. He's athletic. He makes you feel special. Or maybe…you're with him just to spite Draco._ In your heart, you know all of these are true, but when you open you're mouth, you say:

"He reminds me most of you."

You hear Draco sit up indignantly.

"Saint Potter?" He explodes. "I remind you of POTTER?"

"Some times," you say. You turn around to look at him. Draco is sitting up against the cabinet, looking astounded and, frankly, insulted by your comment. "It's the way he looks at me." You explain carefully. This is a difficult and fragile concept for you to even think of, let alone discuss with Draco. "It's like he treasures me, wants me, and needs to protect me, all at the same time."

Draco is quiet, he merely glares into the darkness of the room. You lick your lips and clear your throat, but when he doesn't reply, you turn over again, sinking into the tile.

"I missed you, you know," he says finally.

"I miss you too," you say immediately, sitting up. You feel a strong urge to reach out a touch him, but restrain yourself, thinking of Harry. "It's weird, not having my best friend 'round." Draco smirks.

"Admit it, you would go crazy without me."

"I think I did for a while," you say, moving up next to him, so that the two of your arms touch just the slightest bit.

"I have an intoxicating presence," Draco crows, yawning.

"I suppose," you reply. "Now, it's good to be talking again, but I would really love to get some sleep. Beauty rest and all that."

"You don't need beauty rest," Draco blurts. There's a little sting in your heart as he says that, as if you're longing to act on his words, your feelings, but you know you can't. It's not honest or fair to you, Draco, or, for that matter, Harry.

"You can't say things like that, any more."

"I know," Draco says. He raises a hand, as if to brush your hair back from your face, but then stops himself, and lowers his hand. "We'll be friends. Just like we always have."

"Always will be," you agree. Draco smiles lazily, and you begin to fall asleep, nodding off, falling slightly onto his shoulder. When Draco is sure that you're asleep, (you breathe heavily, and your eyelids are tightly shut) he whispers into the darkness:

"We can't just be friends, Celia. You know that. The only reason I was to stay away from you was because of what we're working on. And now that you're in on it, I see no reason to stay away from you." He lowers his head so that his lips brush the tip of your ear, he can smell the flowery scent of your shampoo. He breathes deeply. "I will fight for as long as it takes you to realize, Celia. No force can keep us apart."


	18. Chapter 18

~Date: January 1, 2009

"No," you murmur, rolling around. You close your eyes more tightly, hoping to cause the vision of the fire to disappear, but it doesn't. The light flares before your eyes, and you can feel the flames licking your skin, kissing your flesh lightly, scorching you, and bubbling the flesh. "No," you protest, hearing the sound of your mother's screams. They ring in your ears, not stopping, making you shake uncontrollably. At once, you wake up, feeling perspiration rising to your skin, the beads rolling down the contours of your body. You gasp, your chest heaving for air-you can still smell the smoke.

"Are you alright, Celia?" A voice asks. You blink; the room swims before your eyes. Narcissa hovers anxiously over you, a wet cloth in her hand, pressing it to your face, wiping the sweat from your brow.

"My Mum," you say, remembering, sitting up. "The house, what…it was burning…I can't…"

"Hush," Narcissa says, pressing you back down onto the sofa. "You need to rest, Celia. After what you've gone through tonight."

"What exactly have I gone through?" You look over her shoulder. Draco is sitting in a chair, stock still, staring at you. His eyes are blank, cold even. He shows no emotion, but you can see the remains of tear-tracks on his face. "It wasn't real, was it?"

Narcissa doesn't say anything, but you notice the tear tracks on her face too.

"No," you whisper, pushing her hands off your shoulders and sitting up. "No, please, it's not…No." Narcissa looks to Draco, who is watching you with a pained expression on his face. In a few steps, he crosses the room and sinks down next to you.

"I…I'm sorry, Celia," he apologizes, his voice hoarse. "By the time we got help…there was nothing that could be done."

You begin to shake more furiously, your limbs quaking, your hands curled so tightly that your fingernails leave deep crescents in your palms. You begin to cry, hot, scorching tears running down your face. You lash out at the first thing you can touch, Draco, who sits by your side.

"Sooner!" You yell out, smacking him across the face, and the sound of your slap echoes in the large parlor. You begin to cry harder, shocked at the circumstances, what you have just done. In a moment, Draco has wrapped his arms around you, trying to comfort you. But you struggle in his arms; you pound your fists against his chest, and then stop. You sob and melt into his grip, crying into his shoulder, soaking the material of his shirt. Narcissa sits in her chair, not saying a word, but cries along with you, sharing your pain, and for some reason, the fact that some one is sharing your uncontrollable grief, the face that some one feels this pain too, helps alleviate the weight of sorrow sitting in your chest. You stay folded in Draco's arms, your head resting on his shoulder, your hands feebly clutching at his shirt, and you fall asleep that way, still crying.

The next morning, you awake early, to the sound of a bird chirping outside the window. You push yourself off the couch, twisting out of Draco's embrace, and walk over to the window, clutching a thin blanket around your shoulders. The day is grey, bleak. You can faintly see smoke still drifting over the hills, ash sticking to the branches. You raise a hand to your eyes, and wipe the tears away. You're startled when the door to the parlor opens, and Lucius rushes in, smelling strongly of smoke, his hair in disarray.

"Narcissa," he says, leaning over his wife, who is dozed off in her chair. He doesn't notice you at first; he has eyes only for his family. Narcissa wakes, startled at the appearance of her husband.

"Lucius," she says faintly, grabbing onto his arms, brushing a clump of ash from his shirtsleeve. "What happened?"

"It was as we thought," Lucius answers. "It was Regulus."

You turn around at this news, and begin to step towards them, feeling your feet glide over the floor, as if dreaming.

"I thought he was dead," you say aloud, and the Malfoys turn to look at you. Lucius straightens up, his face filled with grief, but his eyes steely.

"It appears he some how faked his own death," Lucius tells you. "The Ministry arrived on spot as I got there. He used fiendfyre; some one noticed and summoned the Ministry. But, they got him, Celia. Your parents will get justice. He is going to trial."

Three days later, three painfully long, antagonizing days later, there is a small funeral held for your parents. It takes place in the small, white church of the village, the same church they were married in.

"We gather here today," a speaker says, from his spot at the alter. "To honor two lives lost. These people, these beings, Robert and Alice Validus, were valued friends, relatives, co-workers, and most importantly, parents. They were loved by all and adored by many." You make a sudden movement at this, as though the words have stabbed you. _It's not true. They wouldn't be dead if every one had loved them. _You don't listen to the words of the eulogy, you knew who your parents were, what they did. You're plagued with guilt as you look to the urns of your parents, which sit on pedestals. You remember the way you had talked to your mum the night she died, how awful you had been, and you begin to cry once more, breaking down in the pew. Draco, dressed all in black, offers you a tissue, and places his arm lightly around you. Every one in the church stares unashamedly.

"Celia," Narcissa whispers after a few moments. You look up to realize that the masses have come to offer their condolences. You nod your head and try to look brave as they come to whisper and shake your hand and pat your shoulder as gently as they can. When they're gone, you ask Narcissa, who waits for you, for a moment alone, and she nods. With the quiet sound of her shoes clapping against the ground, she closes the door to the church behind her. You approach the urns, and kneel before them. You clasp your hands together, as if you're praying, and simply talk to them.

"Mum," you say. "I am so sorry. I never meant to say anything to hurt you. I never appreciated the two of you." You begin to cry in earnest, and lace your fingers more tightly. "I cling to everything you've taught me. There's nothing left. No pictures, no trinkets. Everything is in my head. And I will remember you that way." You fall quiet, and collapse fully onto the stair.

"Celia," a voice sounds out. You hadn't seen him, but Draco remains sitting in a pew. He rises and slowly walks next to you. He places a hand on your shoulder, and you place your hand on top of his.

"They made me realize how easily life can be stolen," you tell Draco, standing up and looking him in the eye. "Yours…mine…any one's, really. I…need to start acting on my heart, before my life ends."

"Live as if you would die tomorrow," Draco suggests.

"Exactly," you say, your mouth curling up in an imitation of a smile.

"In that case," Draco begins, clearing his throat. "Celia, I…"

"Yes?" You ask, when he drifts off, falling silent. He looks at you, his mouth slightly ajar, and his eyes move rapidly over your features, as though he is memorizing them, in that moment, as if he is composing your portrait in his mind's eye.

"Celia!" Another voice sounds out. Narcissa has re-entered the church, her hands held out, as if in offering. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but the Minister needs to speak with you." You look at Draco, and press a tendril of his hair away from his forehead. You imitate a smile once more and walk away from him, following his mother out of the church.

~Year: 2009

"It sounds awful, really," Harry says as the two of you sit, side by side by the lake. You pull your scarf more tightly around your neck, stunned by the frigid cold.

"But you have to?" You ask.

"I have to," he admits. "Dumbledore wants me to go."

"Dumbledore…" you mutter. Harry looks oddly at you.

"Yes, Dumbledore."

"Why?" You question.

"Erm. Not sure, really. Dumbledore never really gives an explanation for anything, ever."

"I'll go anyway," you say. "Will be the first Slughorn party I go to. He didn't take well to me on the train."

"How could any one not take to you?" Harry leans in and kisses you lightly. You smile as he does so.

"If only they were just like you," you tell him, curling your hand around his.

"Or Malfoy." Harry says this so quietly, you're hardly sure you hear this properly.

"Sorry?" You ask, running your finger over the creases in his palm.

"Oh, don't play as if you don't know what I'm talking about." Harry smiles, but the tone of his voice is serious. "Malfoy fancies you, Celia. Every one knows that." You don't reply at first, but look out over the lake, and then turn your head slightly, so that you can see the suspended bridge. Draco's recognizable blonde head is quickly moving through the open spaces; he's walking down to the lake.

"He doesn't," you assure Harry. "I know him too well." You feel your heart quicken at your lie. "He doesn't fancy any one but Pansy."

"She looks like a pig," Harry mumbles, and you giggle.

"That's awful," you tell him, still laughing lightly. "But true, yes."

"You," Harry says quietly, kissing his way from your forehead, to your eyelids, to your nose, to your mouth, and down your jaw line, to the base of your neck. "Are far sexier."

"Shut it," you say, blushing.

"Excuse me," a voice says. You crick your neck trying to see who's interrupted you, and fall off the bench in the process. Draco stands on a rock near the two of you, his face a mask of disgust. "Celia, when Potter here is done sucking the skin off your neck, I have to remind you that mum asked you to send something home. If you remember." You blush more deeply and button the top button of your jacket, concealing any skin available to the eye.

"Shove off, Malfoy," Harry grumbles, standing. "You couldn't take it to see the one that got away here, could you? Snogging. Snogging me, in fact."

"Please, you two," you say, rather breathlessly, standing in the middle of them. They glare at each other.

"How does it feel, Potter, to know that I've known your girlfriend for some time now? In fact, I've known her for out whole lives."

"Shut up," Harry warns, his face turning crimson, and his hands beginning to shake with anger.

"Ignore him, Harry," you say desperately, grabbing onto Harry's hands.

"Yes," Draco sneers. "Ignore this, Potter. You're girlfriend there has slept in the same bed as me."

"Draco," you scream, turning around. The smirk falls from his face when he sees your furious expression. You stalk a few steps towards him. "Get going, you filthy tosser."

"But-"

"I'll talk to you later," you tell him. "Now get out before I hurt you, which I would really regret, sometime in the future." He grimaces at your expression.

"Sorry," he mutters. But when you turn your head, he smirks widely at Harry.

"I'm sorry, Harry. That was stupid of him to say."

"It is true?"

"What?" You choke.

"You've slept in the same bed as Malfoy?"

"Of course," you say. "He's my best friend, Harry. And no matter what you think, it was a platonic matter. Always."

"Always?" Harry says quietly. "You two have slept in the same bed twice?"

"More than twice," you tell him, shrugging. "But listen, Harry. You're the only person I would sleep in a bed with now. The only one I would be in a bed with, romantically. Okay?"

"I don't mind hearing that," Harry says, a smile spreading over his face. He leans down to kiss you once more, and then you break apart.

"I really do have to go send a letter, though," you tell him, running your fingers through his messy hair. He nods, and lets you go, brushing your cheek with his fingertips. You begin to trek back to the suspension bridge. But before you can make the full trip to the bridge, Draco emerges from behind a tree and begins to walk alongside you.

"What happened to being my friend?" You ask him testily.

"I'm your friend, not Potter's," Draco says. "I'm sorry to do that in front of you, Celia, but I hate him."

"That's low," you murmur as the two of you turn onto the bridge. "You've got to stop, Draco. I know you don't like it, but please. For me."

"For you," he relents. "But don't expect me not to do it when you're not around." You sigh, annoyed, but you know that he won't stop, and there's nothing you can do to change his mind otherwise.

"So what was so important that you needed to come find me at this particular moment?" You grumble, still annoyed with him.

"The Cabinet. I think I got it to work."

"What?" You ask, quickening your pace. "How did you…what spell?"

"I did a combination of redintegro and renovo. I think it's worked…I…I placed a bird in the cabinet and Borgin sent it back."

"We have to try something else then," you say thoughtfully.

"I was thinking," Draco says carefully. "We could use a person." You stop right outside the blank stretch of wall and look at him, your mouth hanging open most idiotically.

"You want to put me in the cabinet?" You ask, gaping.

"I'm too tall," Draco explains, blushing.

"Oh I don't think so," you reply, yanking open the door to the room. The two of you hurry inside. "No. You better hunch over, because I'm not going in that cabinet."

Twenty minutes later, you and Draco are still standing in the room, arguing about the cabinet.

"Fine!" He explodes after you try to push him through the open doors. "Fine. We'll just wait on it."

"What? You going to find some unwitting first year to go through?"

"No," he sneers. "We'll talk to Bellatrix over the holidays. She can try from the other end. We have to make sure that works as well."

"And in the meantime? There's weeks that we could be leaving open."

"The mead." Draco plucks the bottle off a table, where it's been sitting for the past few weeks. "We need to use the imperius curse on a teacher, a trustworthy one, and they can pass it along to Dumbledore."

"A Christmas present…" you say slowly. "Hmmm. How about Slughorn? We're both in advanced potions, he won't suspect us staying after class for a bit. We could just say we need extra help on that essay he assigned yesterday."

"Perfect," Draco replies, beaming. "Brilliant, Celia."

"How about after the Solstice Party he has? The next day?"

"You're going to that?" Draco asks lightly, storing the bottle back on a shelf.

"Aren't you?" You question, feeling your face heat up. "I'm going with Harry."

"Of course," Draco says acidly, rolling his eyes. "Fucking…" He trails off at your glare. "No. I'm not going. I was not invited." He sneers. "Slughorn has gone off me a bit, ever since my father was pointed at for being a death eater."

"Ah, well, how could he not love a sweetheart like you?" You tease.

"How come you can't?" Draco whispers.

"What was that?" You ask, turning around, your hand on the doorknob.

"If you weren't with Potter," Draco begins. You open your mouth to interrupt, but you hold up a hand to silence him. "Would you be with me?"

"I am with Potter, Draco." You give him a small smile. "This friendship thing isn't going to work, is it?"

"No," Draco replies. "Not while you're with Potter."

"I'm sorry, then. It's too bad I had to loose my best friend."

"You're choosing him, then?" Draco's voice is wounded, but you can sense his rage.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. You can feel the tears rise to your eyes, but you blink them back.

"You're making a mistake, Celia!" Draco calls after you, but you close the door quietly behind you, and sink to the floor. Your bury your face in your hands, and run your fingers through your hair. _You've lost your parents and everything you own. You lost your best friend, the person you love most in the world. What was next?_


	19. Chapter 19

~Date: January 2009

The lower halls of the ministry are dark and cavernous. The ceilings stretch tall, as if for miles, though you can't see the top of the ceiling, making you feel slightly claustrophobic.

"It's going to be alright, Celia," Narcissa wraps an arm around your shoulder and plants a kiss on your forehead. "You just tell the judge what you want, alright? Lucius, Draco and I will be right there, in the seats behind you."

You tuck your hair behind your ears and smooth your long, black skirt, borrowed from Narcissa.

"Here, Celia, I almost forgot." Lucius fumbles with something in his pocket. He draws out a heavy gold ring. He hands it gently to you. You examine the gold metal work. A snake, its tiny fangs bared, is inlaid with emeralds and diamonds. "Your father had one just like it."

"Thank you," you say softly. You attempt to slip the ring on your fingers, but it's too large, so instead, you hold it in your palm, where it glimmers slightly.

"We'll have to go inside now," Narcissa tells you. "The court scribe ought to bring you inside in just…a few moments." Narcissa smiles bravely at you, her eyes misty. Lucius clears his throat, and offers you a sad-eyed smile. They walk inside the court, leaving you and Draco alone.

"It's going to be fine, you know," Draco tells you quietly. "You have no need to be nervous."

"What if they just ship me off some where?" You ask. "I have no living family. Hogwarts is my home."

"Your home is with me," Draco says firmly. "With my family. We are your family, have been for years now."

"Thank you," you answer. You feel the overwhelming sense of being loved, cared for, and you feel safe. In a swift moment, you let out a soft choking of tears and wrap your arms around Draco's neck. "You are one of the best people I know. You know that?"

Draco doesn't take your compliment, nor try to refute it. He simply runs his hands over your back in a circular movement, offering comfort.

"Miss Validus?" The door to the courtroom opens to reveal a tall, redheaded boy, who strongly resembles Ron Weasley. He looks down his nose at you, possibly sympathetically, but his aura of excess hubris clouds any consolation he offers.

"I'll see you inside," Draco whispers. He brushes his lips against your head and walks inside, settling down in a straight-backed chair.

The Weasley boy nods vigorously. "Come on." He ushers you inside, and leads you to a rickety wooden chair in the middle of the room. He takes seat next to a tall alter, at which the minister, Cornelius Fudge stands.

"Date, January 2009. Case concerning the custody of Miss Celia Alva Validus. Parents, Robert Ethan Validus and Alice Candra Validus are deceased as of December 31, 2008. No living family left. The minor is here to discuss different options for her situation." The Weasley kid is leaning over the parchment, scribbling rapidly.

"Miss Validus," the Minister says nicely, and you look up at him, startled slightly. The people surrounding him, a few WIZMANGOT members, smile encouragingly at you. "Is there any thing you would like to say before the council?"

"I…" you clear your throat and look back towards the Malfoys. Draco nods at you, and you look back to the minister. "My parents are dead. My home is gone. You…you would think I've lost everything. But I haven't. I still have some of my family. Even if it's not a blood relation, the Malfoys are like a second family to me. I have known them since I was an infant. My mother and Narcissa raised Draco and me together. He's my best friend, just as Narcissa and Lucius were my parent's best friends." You feel yourself tear up. "Please let me go with them. They're all I have left."

"Lucius?" The Minister looks over your shoulder. "Are you willing to take custody of Miss Validus? Is your family willing to take responsibility for another minor."

"Absolutely," Lucius answers earnestly. "Minister, what Celia says is true. She is like a daughter to Narcissa and I, and a sister to Draco."

The Minister looks at you with unmasked pity. "Well, Miss Validus, you seem to have presented a suitable option. If no one in the council has any objections…?" No one makes a movement, nor says a word. "It's settled then. Celia Alva Validus, you are released into the custody of the Malfoy family. Court adjourned."

"Wait," you say, your throat rather dry. You stand up quickly, knocking the chair askew. "I want to know what happened to him. I want to know what happened to the man that murdered my parents."

"Miss Validus, that is classified information." The Minister looks astounded that you would even have the nerve to ask.

"Please, Minister," you beg. You hear Draco come quietly up behind you. He places a hand on your shoulder. "I need to know that Justice will be served."

"It already has, Miss Validus." A tall, austere woman with a monocle tells you. "Regulus Black was administered the Dementor's Kiss early yesterday morning." The fear you've been feeling in the pit of your stomach vanishes.

"Thank you," you murmur, but the council is already leaving, gathering up briefcases and drowning out your words in their hurry. You turn around and nearly walk straight into Draco.

"Come on," he had said. Draco slung his arm around your shoulders. "Let's go home."

~Year: 2009

"You already have something to wear, then?" Harry asks you one night. The two of you are sitting in the courtyard outside the school, next to the bubbling fountain.

"Yes," you tell him. You curl closer into his side, and he places his arm around your waist. "I always have something formal to wear…just in case the occasion ever arises."

"Oh, like what?" Harry asks. He pushes a strand of hair back from your face and places it behind your ear. He combs his fingers lightly through your hair.

"So I can get married, naturally," you say, laughing. "No, just so I can wear something if any thing like this comes up. A ball or a dinner. You know."

"I know you are adorable," Harry murmurs, running his hand against the bottom of your jaw.

"Thank you. I agree. I mean, about you." You blush and Harry kisses you on the corner of the mouth.

"I'm lucky to have you," Harry whispers, once he's done kissing you. "I never thought you would ever forgive me."

"I'm surprising like that."

"For a while, I thought you were dating Mafoy," Harry admits with a laugh. You stiffen slightly and tuck your face into the lapel of his jacket. "You proved you don't have bad taste after all." Harry laughs again.

"Don't," you say, annoyed, pulling away. "He's my best friend." You trail off when you remember; he was in fact, not your best friend any more.

"Sorry," Harry apologizes. Silence falls between the two of you. "Celia," Harry says after a moment. "I love you." You look up at him, his sparkling green eyes, and search your mind and heart. You know you don't feel the same way. Not yet, at least. You look up at the castle and see Draco, Crabbe and Goyle walking by the window in the Clock Tower. Draco looks down at you and at the same moment, you both turn your heads the opposite way.

"I love you too." You tell him this and plaster a smile on your face. However, the smile, the words, are just a shadow of their true meaning.

The next evening, you get dressed to go to Slughorn's ball with Harry.

"How long have the two of you been dating, now?" Daphne asks as she sits perched on the end of her bed.

"A month?" You estimate. "I think. I'm not sure."

"How do you not know that?" Daphne asks, laughing. "Here, let me help you zip up." Daphne comes up behind you and yanks the zipper of your dress up, nearly catching your hair (.). You suck in your breath and look in the mirror.

"Harry told me he loves me," you say aloud, looking in the mirror.

"Celia, that's lovely! Even if it is Harry. What did you say?"

"I lied," you admit. "I said I love him. But…I…Daphne, I'm in love with some one else."

She sits quietly for a moment.

"Do you care for him at all?"

"Yes. But…more like a friend…I just…he can't compare to some one I love."

"It's not fair to any of you, Celia. You have to do what's right."

"Tonight?" You ask, slightly panicked.

"Tonight," Daphne says firmly. "You can't let this continue. The sooner the better."

"Right," you reply, somewhat sadly. "It was nice for a while, feeling loved."

"You don't have to worry about that," Daphne whispers. You look into the mirror and spot Daphne behind you, looking at you with a slight smirk. "I know, Celia. For chrissake, every one knows. Now go." Daphne slightly shoves you out the door of the dorm. You slip on a pair of high heels, flip your hair back and head out of the Slytherin Common Room, and head up to the Great Hall. You spot Harry, handsome in crisp dress robes, waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs.

"Hi, Harry," you say, approaching him.

"Wow, Celia." He shakes his head in disbelief. "You look beautiful."

"I feel insulted," you say with a chuckle."

"I just mean more than usual," Harry explains. He leans in to kiss you, and coward that you are, you let him. "Shall we go up then?"

"Yes, sure," you agree, flustered. You allow Harry to steer you by the arm up the stairs and into Slughorn's office, which is draped in streamers and banners of festive colors. Bowls of vibrantly colored fruit punch move through the room, along with trays of food supported by house elves. You grab the nearest glass of pumpkin juice and down it, hoping just to get something in your stomach.

"Harry, I have to talk to you," you begin.

"What about?" Harry is starring at you. He can't take his eyes off you. You gulp.

"I don't know if I can-"

"You little skank," you hear some one say quietly. You glance over to see Pansy Parkinson staring angrily at you.

"Sorry?" You ask nervously, glancing around.

"What are you talking about, Parkinson?" Harry glares at her and protectively steps closer to you.

"She kissed my boyfriend this summer, Potter." Pansys shaking now. "I just found out. She was the reason Draco broke up with me. She is a cheating little skank."

"I didn't…" you begin. You look at Harry, who steps away, his eyes wide. "Pansy, I'm sorry."

"I could kill you," Pansy hisses, fuming. "But I wouldn't want to do it here. Be prepared for what's next, Celia." Pansy slinks away into the crowd.

"Is that true, Celia?" Harry asks. "You kissed Malfoy?"

"Yes," you whisper quietly. People are beginning to stare. "I did."

"Hermione told me…" he shakes his head. "You have feelings for him. Just as you always have."

"I'm sorry, Harry. I truly am."

"I loved you," he tells you, looking hurt. He shrugs his shoulders at once and rolls his eyes. "Some things just can't be helped, I guess."

You recall something Draco had whispered once; you thought it had been part of your dream. _No Force Can Keep Us Apart._

"I have to go," you tell him, your voice hoarse. You push people aside and run from the room, slipping slightly in your high-heels. You turn the corner and miraculously, you see Draco. "Draco!"

He turns around, and when he sees you, immediately smiles a bit. Then, he stifles his emotion and puts on a mask of indifference.

"What is it, Celia?"

You walk to him, extending your legs as long as you can, taking long strides.

"I need to tell you something."

"What's that?"

You grab him by the back of the neck and pull his face down towards yours. You crush your lips against his. Draco immediately responds, pulling you against him, wrapping his arms tightly around your middle.

"That was what I had to tell you," you say, gasping, breaking away. Draco moves his hand along the side of your face, cupping your jaw in his hand. "I'm sorry, Draco. I never should have been with Harry." You take a deep breath and tangle your hands in his hair. He leans his forehead against yours, his breath heaving. "It's always been you."

"I love you, Celia. You know that."

"I love you too," you reply. And this time, you mean it. Draco places his hand on the back of your neck and leans down to kiss you. You close your eyes and feel everything you should during a cliché kiss. You see the fireworks; feel the shock of his lips on yours, the energy flowing through your limbs.

"You look ravishing," Draco says, pulling back.

"Remember when we were younger and you said that 'some people' might find me pretty?"

"Yes," Draco says with a crooked smile. He rests his hand at the base of your throat and runs his fingertips lightly against your collarbone. "My adolescent attempt at a hint."

"It was one of the first times I realized that I was meant to be with you." Draco exhales. You lift your arms and tangle your fingers in his hair once more. Draco buries his face on your shoulder and kisses your shoulder lightly. He begins to kiss you, trailing from the shoulder to your neck to your lips. The two of you stay there, wrapped in an embrace, until Filch comes to chase you off. When you run from Filch, Draco takes your hand in his. You entwine your fingers with his and smile.


	20. Chapter 20

~Late February, 2009

You feel claustrophobic in the Slytherin common room. There's no windows. The doors seems smaller, and heavier than usual, like they would trap you in. You wake up at night, sweating under the covers, tears and sweat mingled on your skin, seeping into the pores.

"Celia?" Daphne asks one night, as you sit up in bed, sobbing. "Are you alright?"

"I…" you close your eyes and hear the cruel laugh of Regulus Black, see the dark eyes that had bored into yours as a child. "I just need to get out for a moment."

Daphne hesitates. "Do you want company?"

"No. Thanks, Daph." You shiver involuntarily and tip-toe past a snoring Millicent and out into the common room. You settle down on one of the couches, eerily lit by the only candle in the room. You are just about to sink your head into one of the throw pillows when a voice says:

"Celia?" You look to see Draco descending the common room staircase.

"Hi," you reply. You quickly pull a blanket around your bare shoulders; you're only wearing a flimsy nightgown.

"I had a feeling you would be down here." Draco stops at the bottom step. "You don't mind me being here, do you?"

"No," you tell him. "I would mind if it was any one else." Draco offers you a small, tight-lipped smile, and sits down next to you. He notices the goose bumps on your legs.

"Nightmare?"

"Yes," you admit. "It's awful. I just don't think I'm ever going to get over it."

"There are certain things," Draco says slowly. "That we're not supposed to get over. It will take time to heal, but you will never forget. And Celia, no, look at me-" He says this as you look down at the floor. "Celia, part of that is what makes you…you. And you're wonderful. Amazing, even. And different."

"How would you know?" You reply sullenly. "You've never had something like this happen. You've never tried to forget something this awful happen."

"You're right," Draco agrees. "Nothing of this magnitude." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry if I offended you, and that wasn't my intention. I just…" he gulps and looks at you. "There are just things I will never forget. Ever."

"Like what?" You ask curiously, winding a loose string from the blanket around your ring finger, so it turns purple.

"The time I almost watched you die," he says simply.

"Well that's positive," you snort. Automatically, your hand goes up to the scar on your neck.

"That was the first time I ever prayed, you know," he continues.

"You're a saint," you snarl.

"I thanked God for you. If you had died…well, I would have ended up a lot worse than I am today."

"That's not possible," you tease him. "But thank you, Draco. For saying everything. It helps, a little."

"I do what I can," he replies with a shrug of his shoulders.

"I think I can go to bed, now." You look at the clock, enlaid with golden serpants, which hangs over the lonely fireplace. It reads three am. You stand up, and Draco follows. On instinct, you throw yourself at him, yearning for a sign of comfort.

"I know," he whispers into your hair, and you close your eyes tightly. A small tear leaks out, but you sniffle, and just tighten your arms around his skinny waist.

"What is THIS?" Some one hisses. You release Draco and peer around his shoulder to see a furious Pansy Parkinson, her arms crossed and hair on end.

"Pansy," you say, cutting in front of Draco. "Draco was just comforting me. My parents…you know."

"Know? We all know," she spits, her face growing blotched and more swollen by the minute. "I don't care what happened to you, you need to keep those greasy paws OFF him."

"Woah," Draco says, stepping in between the two of you. You feel as if you've been slapped. "Hold on, ladies."

"Oh shut up, Draco," Pansy growls. "This is not about you. It's about her! She's been out to get me ever since we started here!"

"Pansy, I never…"

"Celia," Draco whispers in your ear. "Just go upstairs. I'll sort this out." Too tired to protest, or even handle Pansy any further, you sprint up the stairs.

"Where is she going?" Pansy shrieks, and you close the door behind you. You quickly slip beneath the covers of your bed, your heart racing. You close your eyes and just wish for it all to end.

~Year: 2009

It's new, dating Draco. It's unfamiliar. It would almost be like just being with your best friend, except you don't snog your best friend. It flusters you to be around him. Your heart rises and your face flushes and your knees flutter anxiously. But you don't know whether to punch him and tell him he looks as pale as milk, or to grab him and snog him right then and there. Usually, you leave it up to Draco to greet you.

"Good morning," he says, a weak later, the day before holiday. He comes up behind you as you're packing your bags, alone, in your room.

"God," you say, jumping and turning around. You slap a hand over your beating heart. You can practically hear it pumping _rat-tat-tat. _"You scared me."

"I'm sorry," Draco smirks, slipping a hand around your hip. "I assure you, that was not my intention." He buries a hand in your hair and tilts your head back, kissing you deeply. You let your lips part slightly and breathe in his cologne. You moan a little, and Draco presses his lips harder to yours, winding his tongue in between your teeth. You begin to fall backwards, and Draco grabs you. He leans around your side and pushes everything off your bed, and it clatters to the floor.

"I just spent an hour packing that," you say as he walks you backwards, pressing you against the side of the bed. You fall back onto the mattress, and he slowly climbs on top of you, his lips glued to yours.

"I'll make it up to you, I swear," he promises.

"Okay," you gasp, as his lips move down to your neck. Draco moves his hands down to your shirt, and begins to fumble with the buttons. Impatiently, you slap his hands away and unbutton them yourself.

"That's my girl," he teases, but his eyes are hungry and impatient. The moment you have slipped you shirt off, he smoothly places a hand on your breast, and you gasp.

"Draco," you whisper, scratching your hand against the skin bared by his slightly opened collar.

"Um, excuse me?" A voice says tentatively. You gasp and sit up, knocking Draco to the floor. You reach for your shirt and slip it on. Daphne is standing in the doorway, her face flaming red, her hand covering her eyes. "Is it okay to look, or are you two fornicating on Celia's bed?"

"God," you mutter and bury your face in your pillow.

"Hi, Daphne," Draco says, laughing. "No, we're not."

Daphne brightens and removes her hand from her face. "Not that I would have minded. I just don't want to see it."

"Shut up, Daphne," you say, your face heating.

She plows on as if she hasn't heard a word you said.

"Every one, and I mean _every one _is so fucking relieved you two are finally together. I swear, when we heard it happened, even Blaise said it took far too long. And you know how he is, right?"

"I do," Draco replies. You peek up at him and he smiles at you. He sits on the edge of your bed and places a hand on your shoulder.

"I mean, every one was just so happy for you guys. Except Pansy. She hates you."

"BYE DAPHNE," you say menacingly. She finally gets the hint.

"Oh, okay," she says with a smirk. "Alone time. I'll talk to you before we leave, alright?" She leaves the room, still smirking, and closes the door behind her. But before she does, she peeks her head through the crack. "You two be safe…"

"Get out!" You shriek with mortification, and throw a pillow at her. It zooms past her ear and hits a picture frame Pansy has on her nightstand. It knocks it to the floor, where it shatters. She lets out a cackle and closes the door completely.

"You're flaming," Draco informs you.

"You should be," you tell him, crossing your legs. You lean in and kiss him lightly. "This is our relationship, not the whole House's."

"You know," Draco says, placing his hand on your cheek. "I could be upset by the fact that some one's talking about me, but for some reason, I can't muster the energy to care. At least it's about something I like, and something that's true."

You kiss him once more and then push his hands away. You get off your bed and begin to finish packing, folding your clothes neatly.

"It doesn't matter what you pack," Draco tells you, leaning back and placing his hands behind his head. "I've seen you in everything. And…nothing."

"Oh shut up," you say, swatting him on the leg. "You're parents are going to be there."

"Yeah, but you know then, ducking in and out."

"We'll see," you tell him. "But you're mum is going to want to spend Christmas around us."

"But we'll have time alone," Draco says, standing up. "I mean, we better."

"Why's that?" You close the trunk smartly.

"I think you know," Draco says smirking. You feel yourself blush again, this time self-consciously.

"At your parent's house?" You ask, mortified.

"Why not?" Draco slips a finger through one of the beltloops in your jean and pulls you close.

"I don't know." You bury your face in his shirt.

"Unless…you want to take it slow," Draco murmurs into your hair.

"Yes," you say, gratefully. "I wouldn't mind that. We already know eachother so well as friends…but this is so new."

"I've waited years," Draco says. "What's a few months?"

"Thank you," you say, tipping your face up to his. He kisses you softly.

"You don't have to say anything, Celia. I would do anything for you."


	21. Chapter 21

~April, 2009

"She hasn't left you alone then?" Daphne asks in a hushed whisper. You shake your head and continue to make notes in the margins of your potions book.

"No," you answer, your voice tight with anger. "Pansy won't stop. Everywhere I go, she's there. Always making snide remarks, finding some way to push, shove, or kick me. Really, Daphne, I don't know how much more I can take."

"Tell Draco," Daphne presses. "You know he wouldn't stand for this."

"No." You say simply, and blow on the drying ink. "He needs to witness her horribleness all for himself. This isn't his battle."

"Yeah, but he's your Knight in Shining Armor," Daphne sighs aloud and places her chin in her hand. She exhales deeply, and her breath stirs her thick, brown bangs. "I wish I always had Draco Malfoy following me around, trying to protect me and talk to me. You're lucky, Celia."

"Shut up," you advise her, snapping your book closed.

"What? He is the best looking boy in our year."

You don't reply to this, and instead place your book in your rucksack. "Come on, let's get out of here." The two of you blow out the candle that sits on the library table, gather the last scraps of parchment and textbooks, and walk past Madam Pince and into the hallway.

"You have to admit, Celia. Admit it. Draco is good looking."

"I'll admit nothing," you say with a laugh. "He's like my brother. You know that."

"Are you telling me," Daphne stops and smirks at you. "That you two have never done…well…anything?"

"No," you say, too quickly. You blush deeply and begin to walk at a brisk pace.

"That's a lie!" Daphne says triumphantly, skipping up next to you.

"Alright," you say, holding up a hand. "If I tell you, will you shut up about it then?"

"Promise," Daphne replies earnestly. "Now. Go on then."

"We kissed last summer. But he was piss drunk. It wasn't anything." "Of course it was something, Celia," Daphne crows. "His true feelings shone through a mass of confusion and guilt."

"You're making something out of nothing."

"No, I'm not." Daphne sticks her nose in the air haughtily. Then she winks, and you can't help but chuckle. She leans in close to you and grabs your wrist. "So…how was it?"

"Weird," you say, remembering Draco's lips moving all over yours, the smell of alcohol on his breath. "Seeing as he was drunk. He…ah….didn't have the greatest of aim." Your quiet for a heartbeat before adding: "It might have been good. If it had been in the proper setting. And if he hadn't been, well…you know. And if we were romantic and all that."

"Give it time, Celia," Daphne assures you, patting your arm.

~Year: 2009

"Your hands are cold," you protest, drawing your toes back. Draco grabs onto your feet, and you squeal.

"I'll warm them, I swear," Draco promises. You relent, and he presses his hands to the soles of your feet. You squeal out loud again, his hands are as cold as ice. Draco collapses onto his seat, laughing, and you get up to punch him on the shoulder.

"That's not nice, Celia," he gasps with laughter, trying to grab your fist.

"I was put in Slytherin for a reason," you tell him. Draco manages to grab your hand and he pulls you down onto him.

"My kind of woman," he whispers with a smirk. You press your lips to his and he wraps a hand up around your neck and into your hair. You settle down on top of him and lace your fingers and lay them on his chest. Draco smoothes back your hair and smiles lazily at you. The two of you sit like that for a few moments before you feel a sudden lurch, and you fall to the floor.

"We're here," Draco declares. He holds out a hand to you and hoists you off the floor.

"Wait," you say as he moves to take his trunk off the luggage rack in the compartment. "I just thought about something…your parents."

"What about them?" Draco asks, kissing the palm of your hand.

"Well…I mean…we're dating."

"Yes, we are," Draco says with a smile. He pulls down his trunk and you follow suit. "But if there's any one that will approve, it's my mum and dad. My mum especially."

"We're going to tell them?" You ask nervously.

"Oh come on, Celia. If any one has been gunning for this, it was our parents."

"I guess you're right," you say reluctantly. You open the door to the train and walk out onto Platform 9 ¾ and take a deep breath of air.

"Celia!" Narcissa's voice sounds out from across the platform. You smile and wave to her, and Narcissa hurries towards you and Draco, her arms outstretched. "Oh my darlings," she says, wrapping an arm around both you and Draco and pulling you in towards her. "I was so worried…" she begins, but lets her voice drift off softly and looks around the Platform. "Come on," she says, brightening. "Let's get you in the car and get home. It's cold out here, and Celia, you look freezing."

"I am," you say, shivering in the cold London air. You tuck your hands into the pockets of your robes and look up at Draco.

"Come on," he says impatiently. "It really is cold out here." He picks up your trunk and his hand begins to walk towards the muggle world. You and Narcissa follow behind him as quickly as you can.

"How is everything going at school, Celia?" Narcissa asks you, genuine concern etched on her face.

"You mean aside from the schoolwork?" You know what she's getting at. "The…situation is going, slowly but surely. We almost have it done. And in the meantime, we have alternatives."

"The necklace?" Narcissa looks worried as the two of you squeeze through the barrier. "It wasn't traced back to Draco, was it?"

"No, mum," he interrupts. "I'm right here, I can hear everything you tell Celia." She grins, embarrassed, and pats her son on the cheek. Draco winces and pulls away. "I just want to make sure you two are being careful." When she turns away, Draco chokes back a laugh and gives you a wicked smile. You pinch his arm and widen your eyes, but can't help but laugh a little as well.

"What's so funny?" Narcissa asks as the Draco and you pile into the back of the now-customary Rolls Royce. When her back is turned, Draco lightly touches his hand to the small of your back, sending butterflies through your spine.

"Nothing," you answer hastily, as Narcissa slips into the seat next to the driver. She spins around to look at the two of you.

"Now, Draco," she begins. "I know you won't like it, but we aren't having a big Christmas dinner this year. Given the current situation of the family…" she clears her throat uncomfortably and glances at the car driver, who studiously ignores her. "Well, it will just be family, mostly."

"What a shame," Draco says sarcastically, propping his arm up on the window as the car weaves it's way out of the bustling traffic, moving more quickly and flexibly than a regular muggle car. "I just love big dinners."

Narcissa either doesn't hear him, or ignores him. "But we'll have the regular food and the tree this year…oh I do hope the houselves brought back a suitable one…I'll have to give a few of them clothes if they haven't…everything has to be perfect." At this point, she begins to mutter about Lucius's mother's preferences, spitting angrily. Narcissa and Lucius's mother have never gotten on very well.

"Mum," Draco says over her muttering. "I need to tell you something." Again, she ignores him, and slaps a manicured hand to her forehead.

"The turkey," she says. "I forgot one." Draco takes your hand in his, and hesitantly, you squeeze his hand and lean slightly into him.

"Mum!" Draco says loudly, and Narcissa stops muttering at once and looks directly at him.

"What, darling?" She asks, but her voice is slightly tinged with annoyance. Draco clears his throat.

"I…" His voice falters a bit, and his ears go pink. Narcissa looks expectantly at him.

"We're dating," you blurt out, and feel yourself go pink as well. "Draco and I…we're together."

Narcissa blinks rapidly, and looks from your face, to Draco's, and then back to yours, and then looks down at your interlaced hands. Miraculously, she begins to laugh. She throws back her head even, and chortles loudly.

"Well it's about time!" She says. "We've, (Lucius and I) have been waiting for this announcement since you two were about twelve years old."

"Twelve," you say faintly, but inside, you're relieved. It's nice to know you have the support of some one who cares for you deeply.

"I told you," Draco whispers in your ear.

"Oh, shut it," you whisper back, and he smirks. Narcissa smiles and faces front again, leaving you and Draco to yourselves for the rest of the ride home. When the car pulls up in front of Malfoy Manor, it's obvious that it's Christmas season. Houselves on ladders line the house, stringing up magical Christmas lights that never go out. Tinsel and holly line the window sills. There's even a small dusting of snow on the roof, making the house look like an extremely large, lavish, gingerbread house.

"You two go on," Narcissa says, ushering you two out of the car. "I forgot some things for dinner tomorrow. I'm going to have to go into the village. Go on," she adds, as Draco hesitates. "I'll be home soon. Take your trunks and Celia's owl." The two of you hurridly unpack the trunk of the car, and Draco opens the owl cage. Cinnia spreads her wide, tawny wings and hoots, taking off into the trees. The two of you, still joined by the hands, begin to walk in the house, until Draco pauses under the door.

"Wait," he says, as you make to plow forward. You pause and look back at him, perplexed.

"What is it?"

"Misletoe," Draco says simply, pointing over his head. He reels in your arm and holds you against him, so tightly that you can feel his heart thumping against your chest. Draco leans in and presses his lips against yours, walking you back so you're pinned against the doorway. You raise your arms and throw them around his neck, bringing him in closer.

"Ech hem." Someone interrupts your moment, and you stumble out of the embrace, mortified. Bellatrix stands in the hallway, her thick eyebrows raises so high they nearly hide into her hairline. She offers you a smile, but the muscles in her face are strained, and her eyes look patronizing. "We knew you were here."

"We?" Draco asks, walking forward and standing next to you. "We," Bellatrix confirms curtly. "Come into the dining room. We need to discuss your assignment."


	22. Chapter 22

~Year: 2009

Your stomach stews nervously at Bellatrix's announcement.

"Why?" Draco asks. He raises his pointed chin; a sign of strength, courage even, and Bellatrix looks haughty at his objection.

"I expect you'll see soon enough," she says briskly. You feel your legs turn to jelly, and they begin to quiver, nearly knocking you to the ground. Draco's arms shoot out and wrap around your waist, steadying you. Bellatrix looks disgusted at the contact between you two, and walks into the next room, turning her head away.

"Don't worry," Draco says into your ear, moving his hand down your back, and then letting it rest in the curve of the small. "I'm here with you. My father is in there."

You close your eyes and take a tentative step towards the dining room. You know what to expect. You know the magnitude, the importance of your assignment. You know who will be there to confirm your success and look over your progress. You steal yourself by taking a deep breath, tilting your head towards Draco, inhaling the strong scent of his cologne.

"I'll be okay," you say out loud, wishing with all your might that this statement is true.

"You'll be okay," Draco assures you. The two of you push open the doors to the Dining Room, and you immediately stifle a scream. The full court of Death Eaters are sitting at the long stretch of table, looking dead serious and completely intimidating. They're wearing their dark, long robes, and masks of steel, depicting a skeleton. At the head of the table sits Voldemort, his spidery hands splayed on the dark wood. His eyes burn a deep red, and narrow at the sight of you, and his mouth twists into an evil leer. He raises a hand to stroke the thick, slippery snake that is twisted around his shoulders.

"Go, Naigini," Voldemort says, hissing slightly. The snake slithers down his arm and onto the table, where it sits, silent and motionless, save for it's tongue, which flickers out of its fanged mouth. "Well, every one, why don't we welcome our young recruits, hmm?"

The table sits silently, and Voldemort's smile widens.

"So. I hear you have made progress. Yet…Albus Dumbledore seems to be alive and well."

"My Lord," Draco says, and his voice shakes slightly. "We are doing all we can right now. We have different plans at the moment, and all are in action."

"And the necklace just worked so well," Voldemort hisses angrily, and you inch slightly towards Draco. This, unfortunately, attracts his attention to you. "Celia Validus." You freeze.

"Yes…My Lord," you add on as Draco nudges you in the ribs, avoiding those spooky red eyes.

"I do believe your parents were extremely loyal, powerful followers of mine. It is a shame that they were killed in the manner they were." You incline your head slightly, an acknowledgment of his words, an appreciation, even. "It's a shame to see that their daughter doesn't have their power, nor their determination."

"My Lord," you say, and miraculously, your voice sounds clear and strong. "I am doing my best with the task you have assigned me and Draco. I am also grappling with the other problems Hogwarts demands of me. If you wish me to complete this task, I need to remain a student, and a convincing one at that."

At the end of your speech, you hear Draco's intake of breath, and he nervously brushes his arm against yours, as if that can protect you.

Surprisingly, Voldemort's thin; milk-white face splits into a triumphant grin.

"It seems you have inherited your mother's smart wit and your father's level-headedness after all," he says, clapping his hands together. Naigini coils into a circle and hisses loudly, startled by the noise. "Tell me what you have in action at this moment."

"Well, after the necklace did not…work out…Draco managed to procure a bottle of Madam Rosmerta's mulled mead. We poisoned it, and he managed to pass it along to an imperused Professor Slughorn. Professor Slughorn should give it to Dumbledore for Christmas."

"And the cabinet?" He booms, his voice echoing in the room.

"We have been able to repair half of it, My Lord," Draco hastens to say, cutting you off.

"The cabinet is not yet able to fully transport humans, but small animals and inanimate objects of a large size. We are going to test a human on the first day back at Hogwarts. We need more cooperation on Borgin's end."

Voldemort snarls and slaps his hand on the table. "Bellatrix. Did I not send you to Borgin days ago for this specific reason?"

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix says from some where along the side of the table, her voice gravelly. "It seems that I was not…persuasive as I had hoped. Forgive me."

Voldemort sighs, as if Bellatrix has personally failed him.

"Fine," he says. "To our next order of business." His eyes flicker back onto you. "I have a sudden…urge." Draco sees Voldemort's glance move onto you and looks down at you, his pale eyes wide. Voldemort stands up and screams: "Wormtail. My wand!" A small, hunched over member, his hands quaking terribly, stands up from the end of the table. He hurries to Voldemort's side and hands him his wand, which is incredibly long, thin, and looks like it's made of bone. "Celia. Up here, please." You begin to move towards the head of the table, but Draco's fingers wrap tightly around your wrist, preventing you from moving.

"I'm fine," you mutter to him. You turn your head away from the view of Voldemort and the rest of the Death Eaters. "Trust me. It will be okay." For a moment, Draco freezes, his eyes completely blank, but then releases you.

"Touching," Voldemort sneers and the table bursts into raucous laughter. You ignore them, and slowly walk up to Voldemort's side. He turns to you. "Hold out your left arm, Celia."

"No," Draco bursts suddenly. Voldemort silences him with a flick of his wand, and Draco falls to his knees. Lucius makes a sudden movement, and then leans back in his chair. You have stood stock-still for this moment.

"Pull up your sleeve," Voldemort commands, his voice dangerously soft and silky. You draw a deep breath and pull of the left sleeve of your shirt. Voledmort raises his wand and places the tip on your skin. Immediately, the congregation around the table shifts involuntarily. Voldemort closes his eyes, and you do the same, unsure of what to expect.

Suddenly, you feel a flow of energy flow through Voldemort's wand. It reaches your skin, and you feel it enter the blood stream. Suddenly, the energy becomes white-hot, blazing and extremely painful. You let out a shriek of pain and begin to writhe. Voldemort lets out a low laugh, and places his hand on your arm. His long, yellow fingernails dig into your skin, adding to the injury.

And then, as suddenly as the pain came, it stopped. You look down at your arm to see the damage. Enscribed in your skin is the deep green symbol of the Dark Mark.

"Every one," Voldemort says at once. In a uniform movement, the Death Eaters all pull up their sleeves, except Draco, who stands motionless by the end chair, not moving at all. At once, all the Death Eaters press either their wand or a finger to their Dark Marks. You feel a sudden twinge in the new tattoo on your skin. You look down as the feeling intensifies, and the skin moves slightly. The snake looks as if it is moving.

"Good," Voldemort says quietly. "Good." He drops your arm, and then looks dismissively at you and then at Draco. "Leave. You two."

You hurridly drop the sleeve on your left arm and walk along side the table. You hold a hand out to Draco, and slowly, he puts his hand in yours. You tug him out the door of the dining hall, and then close the heavy doors behind you.

"I'm sorry," Draco whispers miserably.

"Don't be," you tell him. You hold out your arm and wince. The mark on your skin oozes a thick substance, which runs down on your skin. "Blood," you whisper, and wipe it away. You look up to see Draco's eyes, still wide, staring at the mark on your arm.

"C'mon," you say gently. You take his hand and the two of you head upstairs to his room. You crack open the door to reveal his bedroom, pristine as always. You sit Draco down on his bed and then sit quietly next to him.

"I didn't want this for you," he tells you.

"I want this for me," you reply. "My parents…"

"Enough about your parents, Celia. What about you? What do you want?" You cover up the Dark Mark now imprinted on your arm and look up at him.

"This isn't what I want," you admit. "I don't want to be constantly living in fear of screwing up…and knowing that the slip-up could lead to the death of the ones I love."

"Now you know how I felt," Draco says quietly, tracing your features with his fingertips.

"We make a good, albeit dysfunctional couple," you note.

"That's the best kind," Draco tells you. You kiss him on the jaw.

"Sleep with me?" You ask. Draco interprets your words as you had hoped. The two of you lay down on his bed, and he curls an arm around your waist. You grab his hand in yours and he nestles closer into your back. "I love you," you whisper to him.

"I always will love you," Draco says back. You close your eyes, and for the first time after watching your future carved into your skin, you allow yourself to cry.


	23. Chapter 23

~Year: 2009

On Christmas Eve, you awake to the sound of branches creaking outside your window. You let your eyes flicker open and adjust to the darkness of your room. The blinds are pulled over a few of the windows, and the candle on your nightstand has gone out. Sleepily, you turn over on your side and your arm throbs painfully. Draco is still asleep next to you, breathing heavily, his eyelids flickering. His hands are extended, as if they were wrapped around you, but you slither away.

It's still early the morning light is nonexistent. Birds have yet to wake, and the snow that thickly layers the ground is untouched, pure.

Quietly, so not to wake Draco, you open the window a crack. Cold air seeps through the opening. You shiver, and then slip on a thick, white cashmere robes that is draped over the handsomely carved footboard of your bed. You sit on the windowsill and stick your head out of the opening, feeling the brittle air brush against your skin. The dried tears that had run down your cheeks and neck seem to disappear after contact with the air.

"Celia?" Draco stirs in the bed, knocking the covers aside. He smiles sleepily when he sees you perched on the windowsill. "You look like an angel."

"You are hallucinating," you say quietly, smiling back. You step down and close the window behind you.

"I mean it," Draco protests. "With your hair blowing like that."

"You're being far too sweet," you whisper, crawling onto the bed next to him. Draco puts an arm around your shoulder.

"Thank you, for being with me last night," you tell him. "I needed that."

"So did I," Draco smirks, moving his hand along your neck.

You blush and nuzzle your face into Draco's collarbone. You breathe deeply and remember what happened the night before:

_You had begun to cry deeply. Draco had sat up and rolled you over so he could look you in the eyes._

"_Please don't cry," he begged, kissing every tear that fell from your eyes. "You know I hate it when you cry, Celia."_

_You had laughed and wrapped your still-tender arm around Draco's neck. Draco had tentatively moved his hand to your arm. You wince slightly as he touches your arm._

"_May I?" He asks. You nod and Draco gently rolls down the sleeve of your shirt to reveal the Dark Mark. The ink of the mark shines brightly, as though Draco's touch had inflamed it. You reach out and grab Draco's left arm. The mark on his left arm shines brightly two. The contact between you two is strengthening the bon of your dark marks._

"_It's ugly on me," you mutter. The snake and skull nearly wraps around your arm._

"_You're always beautiful to me," Draco had corrected._

_You wrap your arms around his neck and lean in to kiss him. Draco responds heartily, closing his arms around your waist, lowering himself on top of you._

"_Wait," he says, bounding off you and backing up, nearly tripping over the carpet._

"_Where are you going?" You demand, slightly breathless, shooting up from the bed as well. "You can't be all sweet like that and then just expect to leave."_

"_I know, Celia, I just…" Draco exhales and tries to smirk, but his lips quiver slightly and his eyes burn, as if he's holding himself away from something mouthwatering. "You wanted to take it slow. You said you did. And I don't know if I can…when we do this."_

_You bite your lips and consider the situation before you. Here, before you, stands Draco. YOUR Draco. The one you've known forever, loved for so long, and the one who makes you feel like no one else can. You know every word he's said, every thought he's thought, and every contour of his body. You lean around Draco and slip your arm around him._

"_What are you doing?" He asks, his voice hopeful. There's a click, the sound of metal hitting metal. You've locked the bedroom door._

"_What do you think I'm doing?" You ask. You sashay closer to Draco and demurely press your hips against his._

"_Don't get my hopes up," he says, grinning and moving his hands eagerly around your hips, pulling you closer against him._

"_As long as you don't get mine up," you say. You push Draco against the bed and he falls backwards. You climb on top of him and press your lips to his, holding his face in your palms._

"_No chance there," Draco murmurs, drawing breath. He quickly rolls over you, holding you tightly against him. You reach for the bottom of his shirt and pull up._

"_Are you sure about this?" You ask, gasping slightly as Draco begins to roll your shirt off. You grab for him as you ask, scraping your hands down his muscled front. "This could change everything."_

"_Believe me," Draco says. He runs a hand down your neck and to the back of your bra, which he easily snaps open .You shiver at his touch. "I've never been so sure about anything. You're beautiful, Celia."_

"_Tell me you love me," you whisper, shaking off your pants. They fall to the floor, your underwear among them. With a deep breath, you wrap your legs around Draco's waist. He places a hand gently on your calf. Draco smiles at you. A genuine, wide smile, that stretches his thin lips and causes his eyes to glimmer._

"_I love you, Celia Validus. With all my being, everything I'm worth, I do."_

"Are you feeling alright?" Draco asks, breaking you out of your reverie. "You look…distant."

"I was remembering last night," you tell him, blushing slightly.

"It was everything you had dreamed, wasn't it?" Draco teases, planting a kiss on your temple.

"You're so weird," you laugh. "I never dream about that…that's your territory."

"You're telling me you've never dreamed about this?" Draco asks, gesturing to your bodies, which lie pushed against each other, the pale skin and blonde hair mixing together.

"I dreamed of you," you tell Draco, placing your hand on his chest, so you can feel the skip of his heart against your palm.


	24. Chapter 24

~Year: 2009

Christmas morning at the Malfoy's was different than most Christmases you had ever celebrated. Most Christmases, you had woken up early. You had slipped on sweat pants over your boxers and put thick slippers on your feet. You had then proceeded to run down the hall to check if your parents were up. If they were, you would jump on the end of their bed until they would come out to the tree with you. If they weren't you would do the same thing. They would grumble for a few moments, but would ultimately get up, smiles on their faces. The three of you would dash down the stairs to assemble below the huge tree. The trees your parents chopped down every year was usually fifteen to twenty feet tall. Every year, the house elves would decorate the tree with gorgeous ornaments, golden balls and squares inlaid with jewels, the branches were draped in popcorn and cranberries. Some branches held candles, lit with non-flammable flames. The star on top was a family heirloom, passed down from your great-great-great-great grandmother; it was a diamond, ruby and emerald goblin made star, set in solid gold.

After opening great mounds of presents under the tree, you and your mother would prepare Christmas brunch while your father would clear up all the wrapping and put away the new presents. You were used to preparing a feast; Christmas bread with orange and cranberries, fruitcake, fat apple sausages, bacon, eggs, sweet rolls dripping in cinnamon frosting, freshly squeezed pumpkin juice and freshly squeezed orange juice as well. You and your parents would eat heartily, before heading out to take a long walk around the local village, sometimes stopping in the church to sing Christmas Carols. And then, there was always traditional dinner with the Malfoy's.

But this year was different. You couldn't fall asleep on the twenty-fourth. You tossed and turned and closed your eyes tightly, but everything you tried was unfruitful. Finally, early in the morning, when the sun just began to rise over the hills, you had slipped on jeans and a long trench coat, along with thick wool boots that had gone over your knees. You jammed a black wool cap on your head and quietly slipped down the stairs and out of the manor.

You made your way past the space that used to be your home and down to the Village. The village was quiet at this time, except for the soft thud of snow falling from the branches of pine tree and the sound of a sermon in the white chapel. You pause outside the church and stare up at the stain-glass windows, which are slightly frosty. Only a year ago, you stood out here with your parents, singing silent night as the wizarding village woke up to collect their presents from under the tree. You turn away from the windows and sigh, walking back the way you came.

When you pass by the empty lot that used to be your house, by the crumbling iron gates, you pause for a moment. There's a small hill where your house to be, most likely the foundation left from the fire. You linger by the gate; your hand wrapped longingly around one of the rods, when you feel your heart stop. Something in the distance moved. For a second, you thought it might have been an animal, maybe a dog or a farm animal. But then the moving mass straightened up to reveal a man. Tall, dark, and wearing impeccable black robes.

"No," you whisper, frozen on the spot. The man smiles, and then takes a step forward. You blink rapidly. If you're not crazy, if you're not hallucinating, the man in the clearing is Regulus Black. "He's dead," you tell yourself.

"Celia!" A voice rings out, through the trees. You whip around, panting with fear, to see Draco running down the lane, wearing a ridiculous fur hat and an ink black coat, his hands raised in the air. You quickly look back towards the house. The man is gone. _It's nothing, _you tell yourself. _I imagined that. _Draco reaches you, and takes your hands in his.

"Where did you go?" He asks. He leans down to kiss you.

"I walked down to the church for a moment," you tell him, wrapping an arm around his waist as he wraps one around your shoulder. "The village looks beautiful right now."

"I don't doubt it," Draco says. " Come on home. Mum has a present for you. She's very proud of it. She made it herself."

"Okay," you laugh as the two of you begin to stroll back to the Manor. There's a sudden crack in the tree as a bird takes off flying and sends snow crashing to the ground. You jump.

"Are you okay?" Draco says, snickering a bit. "You seem kind of jumpy."

"It's nothing," you say, but your voice shakes a little. "Just got startled. It's nothing."

"Okay, weirdo," Draco says with a laugh, raising his eyebrows. The two of you return home, to Narcissa waiting under the Christmas tree, smiling widely.

"Your father is still asleep," she tells Draco when you walk in the door. "Would you mind waking him up, sweetheart?" Draco squeezes your hand and walks up the stairs towards his parent's bedroom.

"Here, Celia darling," Narcissa says, handing you a neatly wrapped package that's about the size of a book. "It's not much…but I made it myself. It has meaning…" she continues to babble, but you rip off the paper as she does so. Narcissa has given you a handsome, leather bound book, which thick parchment pages. You cautiously open the book and choke for a moment.

On the front page is a note written in your mother's handwriting.

Dearest Celia,

If you're reading this, your father and I are long gone. We have prepared this note just incase, and have left it with the people we trust most. We want you to know how proud we are of you, our beautiful, smart, strong-willed daughter. We have just one request, Celia. Please take into account things you have heard. Things that may seem unrealistic may help you in the future.

We love you.

The note is dated December 20th of last year. You swallow the lump in your throat and turn the page. The first page is a picture of you as a baby, sitting on your father's lap. He's holding your slightly pudgy little hand and waving it towards the camera. You smile, and then turn to the next page. There is a picture of you at your fifth birthday party, leaning over your cake, grinning as you blow on the candle smoke. Your mother leans over your shoulder and swipes some frosting on her finger, and the picture you gasps indignantly. The next picture is from your parent's wedding. Your mother looks tall and elegant in her ivory dress, and your father smiles brightly at her as they dance under a white chiffon canopy. In the background dance a shorter-haired Lucius and a smiling Narcissa.

"Thank you," you whisper, snapping the book closed and throwing your arms around Narcissa. She pats you consolingly on the back.

"It was the least I could do, sweetheart," she tells you, her voice choked up.

"Is everything okay?" Lucius stands blearily at the top of the staircase, his voice groggy.

"More than okay," you reply, pulling back from Narcissa and smiling widely. Draco comes down the stairs and places an arm around your shoulder.

The rest of Christmas day passes by without a hitch. You open some beautiful gifts, and eat a delicious dinner. But before you go to sleep that night, you flip through all the pages of the book Narcissa made you, pausing to smile over the pictures of you and your parents, frozen in a happier time.

The next few days pass happily, with you and Draco making trips to the village or London, walking through the thick snow and merely enjoying each other's company. But when New Year's Day comes, things change. It marks the anniversary of your parent's death. You lay in bed for half the day, reading, sleeping, or just thinking, until the late afternoon. Draco slips through your door as you sit, reading a book on early century witches. He leans against the doorframe.

"I thought you might want to be alone today," he tells you.

"It's good to see you, though," you tell him, closing your book and placing it gently on the nightstand. Draco crosses the room and leans down to kiss you, moving his hand against your cheek.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, tucking your hair back.

"As good as I should," you say bravely, hanging onto his arm.

"I was thinking," he says slowly. "Maybe you want to go out tonight? Do something to take your mind off…last year." He says this delicately, as if the words might break you.

"Yeah," you reply. You feel alleviated. "I think that would be a good thing. I don't want to sit here all night dwelling on it."

"Are you sure?" Draco asks sweetly. "We can do anything."

"No," you say, jumping off the bed. "I'd like to go out. We can go to the pub. Maybe Daphne can use floo powder and come out…You can ask Goyle or Crabbe to come as well."

"Anything you want," Draco says, giving you a crooked smile.

So, that night, around eleven o clock, you, Draco, Daphne and Zabini are standing out side the Malfoy Manor. Daphne smoothes her pretty purple dress and flattens her hand as Zabini begins to walk up the drive.

"Zabini was asking about you earlier, Daphne," Draco tells her. She flushes in the light radiating from the windows of the manor.

"He was?" Her voice flutters slightly and she smiles at Blaise, who smiles back. "Hi Blaise!" She cries out, running to meet him.

"Is that true?" you ask Draco, who snorts and shakes his head.

"I just thought they should get together already," he says, smirking widely. "They've been denying their chemistry for years now."

"Oh, like you and I did?" You ask.

"Hey, I just wish some one had done this for us," Draco tells you, kissing your cheek. "Come on," he says, raising his voice. "Let's get going."

"Two!" Daphne shouts an hour later. You sit, laughing hysterically on a bar stool, as Daphne does a shot of tequila. "Two minutes," she cries, to the cheers of the filled pub. Blaise watches her eagerly. Draco grins and sips more of his weak pint of beer.

"Come on, Celia," Daphne says, laughing drunkenly. "Share one with me." She shoves a shot in your hand.

"No, no, I'm okay," you say laughingly, setting it aside.

"Shot. Shot. Shot! Shot! SHOT!" Daphne chants as the rest of the pub watches on.

"Fine," you bellow, much to her delight. You raise the small glass to your lips and down the scorching liquid, which sours your taste buds. Suddenly, the room feels too warm, and begins to spin a little. "Woah," you say, stumbling a little. Draco catches you.

"I'm fine," you tell him, pressing a hand to your forehead. "I just need some air."

"Let me come," Daphne says drunkenly.

"No," you protest.

"I wouldn't argue with her," Draco chuckles.

You pat Draco on the cheek and walk out of the pub. You close your eyes and breathe deeply. The air feels good on your face, which is sweating from the temperature inside. Suddenly, the sound of crunching gravel sounds out, and you open your eyes widely, and then jump back, your mouth gaping, trying to scream.

Regulus Black is there, alive and well, standing before you.

"Hello, Celia," he sneers, holding up a hand. You remember your eyes rolling, Regulus laughing, and then everything goes black.


	25. Chapter 25

~Year: 2009

If this was what it felt like to be knocked out in a boxing match, you wouldn't be picking up the gloves any time soon.

You felt your body sway back and forth sickeningly, like you were being tossed around in the water. You shook your head and then blinked once, then twice. Wherever you were, it was completely, utterly, dark. You couldn't see a thing.

"Hello?" You say quietly, raising a hand to your head. Maybe this was just a hang over. "Draco?" There was no answer. That's when you felt it. You leaned to your side just a little too far and hit your head against something solid. Tentatively, you reached out, and your hand came in contact to the thing that had surely just bruised your skull. Whatever it was was dusty and filled with small niches, like it had been beaten ruthlessly. You shutter and draw back your hand.

"Hello?" You call out again, startling to feel a flicker of panic. Surely, this wasn't a hangover, but a dream. But then…what had happened? As you strained to remember, you felt a sharp pain on the back of your head. You felt around on your scalp before your fingers brushed over something; a large lump, nearly the size of a chicken's egg, resting under your hair. The wound was fresh; it pulsated sickly as you touched it. When you took your hand away, blood stained your fingertips. There's no denying it, by this time, you were completely terrified of where you were and what was going on. You coughed feebly. "If any one's out there, I need a doctor." For a moment, the place you were in remained dark. But after a few minutes ticked by, very slowly, a slit in the door opened to reveal a thin beam of light, which skittered over the floor. You were sitting in a small room, with no windows, made completely out of steel. There was no furnishing, just an empty chair that was bolted to the floor, which sat empty in the corner. You jumped to your feet, relieved, and nearly scraped your head against the shallow ceiling. Running your hands over your head, you turned slightly, and then something in your peripheral vision startled you.

In the corner was the thing you had hit your head on. A decaying, rotten human corpse was propped up against the wall. It leered out of the feeble light at you, it's teeth clinging to what was left of the graying gums. Maggots appeared to be gnawing at what was left of the pruny skin, which now that you noticed, was bloody and ripped. You feel a horrible sensation around your middle, like you're about to be seriously sick.

"I heard you yelling," a voice says into the darkness. You dash towards the source of the voice, which is near the slit of light. By now, obviously, you realize you're being held captive. And while that thought might frighten most people past the point of sanity, it calms you, makes you more determined to get out. _Who on earth was keeping you here? What did they want?_ These questions buzzed around your brain as you drew breath, fighting to keep still and talk to your captor.

"I don't know why you brought me here. But I need a doctor. My head is bleeding."

There's a shuffling noise from outside the door, and you strain to look through the small slot, catch a glimpse of the person outside, but suddenly, a bottle blocks your view.

"Here," they say gruffly, shoving the bottles between the slats. Cautiously, you reach out and take it from the fingers, which are swollen and black. A fingernail is missing from one of them.

"What is this?" You demand, hesitating.

"Put it on your head, this will help heal it," the voice says quietly. They seem to guess what you're thinking. "It won't kill you. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done that by now."

You pause for a moment, before uncorking the little vials. You pause, and then pour the contents on the lump. Immediately, the wound begins to burn harshly, and you cry out in pain.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the voice snickers. "Were you looking for something to stop the bleeding? I was giving you some salt for your wound…so it would help heal my anger."

"What do you want?" You cry out, still wincing from the pain.

"I think you know, Celia." The way the person says your name is familiar…it stirs something in your memory. You choke on your own breath.

"Regulus," you say into the darkness, scratching at your scalp, trying to remove the grains of salt. "You're going to kill me."

"That's right. Just like I did your parents," he says calmly, as if discussing the weather.

"What happened? How did you get me here?" Another shot of panic flows through you. "Where's Draco and the others?"

"Oh, don't worry about them," he says silkily. "I cornered you outside the pub. It was so easy, so purely simple. What would a teenager do on New Years Eve, I asked myself. And I remembered what my brother used to do. So I waited out in that stupid little Village, until, _be still my heart_, you appeared right before my eyes! You stumbled out of that shabby little bar, looking sick and pale. I walked right up to you, thinking I might have to silence you, even duel to capture you. But it was easier than I thought, Celia. You didn't even have a wand on you." _Blast it. _He was right. Your wand was sitting uselessly in the top drawer of your nightstand. "So, I simply knocked you out with a stunning spell. That certainly got the attention of your friends. They hopped off their stools and ran outside…the Malfoy boy was especially determined to stop me…he was casting spells only a dark wizard would know." He hisses for a moment. "Nearly got me, too. But I'm too powerful. I simply took you away. I brought you here." You open your mouth to reply angrily, but before you can say a word, there's a beam of blasting light, and suddenly, the whole room is visible. It appeared that the steel walls were just covering the real walls. You're sitting in a glass room. Yes, a glass room. And precisely where is this glass room? You look down and scream.

The glass room is suspended in the air. Below you, hundreds of feet, lies water, which is brewing angrily, spitting sea foam against jagged rocks. To your sides lie two cliffs, which hold the glass room in it's place. You whip around to see Regulus standing on one of these cliffs, his arms crossed smugly.

"Homey, isn't it?"

"Please let me out," you beg, pounding your fists against the walls of the room. You plead with him, but he merely sneers.

"Your parents said the same thing. Wanted to back out of our deal. And so, they thought they did. They thought I was dead. And I will stop at nothing to gain back what your parents have cost me."

"I am not my parents," you inform him, stomping your foot. "Please!"

His sneer widens considerably. "How do you feel, Celia?"

"Scared," you admit. "Angry. Let me out, for fuck's sake. I'll leave, you'll never hear from me, just please let me out."

"No, I mean, how do you feel physically?"

You stop kicking the glass and just look at him, surprised.

"Why?"

"JUST TELL ME, DAMMIT." He explodes, pointing his wand at you, and you back up a few inches, startled.

"Weak," you blurt out. "My head hurts."

"What is the longest time you've ever been away from Mr. Malfoy?" He asks next.

"I…I haven't, really," you admit. It's true. You've never been away from Draco than more than a day or so. And when you were, he was close by.

"Did you ever think, Celia, that you two are dependent on each other? That when you're weak, he's weak? That when you die, he might die as well?"

"You can't…" you whisper. "Please, not Draco. You have to let me out…"

"What's that?" He asks teasingly. "Let you out?" He stops and turns his back on you. "I'll think about it….but for the record, Celia, I am a patient person. You might be in there days before I come to a decision. He lets out a high laugh and closes the slats to the door, leaving you trapped in a completely clear room, where no one can see you.


	26. Chapter 26

~Year: 2009

It could have been days that passed, or maybe hours, since you had last seen Regulus. It was hard to tell, since everywhere you looked outside was obscured by fog or clouds. So you sat, in a glass box suspended above a thrashing sea, waiting for your own death. You could actually feel yourself growing weaker as time passed on. You had slumped to the floor, curled up, your arms around yourself. But your grip had soon loosened, and you felt your body heat began to rise. Soon, you were shaking uncontrollably as sweat dripped down your body. At one point, you had coughed, and blood spattered the floor.

Regulus's voice taunted your mind. _That when you're weak, he's weak? When you die, he might die as well?_

What if, at this moment, Draco was as weak as you felt? You hate yourself for even thinking it. That's when you remember something. Some one had once said this to you. That woman in Knockturn alley. You had thought she made a prophecy about you, but Draco had just laughed it off at the time. But what if the prophecy had been true? What if you died…and then, he did? It would be all your fault. You feel tears begin to flood your eyes at the thought. You're more afraid then you've ever been in your life, but that concern isn't even for you.

Suddenly, the room your in lurches slightly. You shoot up off the floor, stumbling slightly because you're so weak. Regulus is standing by the door of the glass room, speaking through the slats.

"I've decided to let you go, Celia." You can't say anything, your chest is heaving. "I have two options for you, two escape routes." Regulus clears his throat before continuing. "You may exit through this door and try to find your way out by land. However, I assure you, all kinds of dangers will follow you out here. There are chimeras, and I'm sure there are wild dragons as well. Or, you can go down, swim your way out. As you can see, there are all kinds of non-magic dangers that await you down there. There may be more, I am not sure."

You look from the rocky cliffs to the swirling ocean. Either way, you would have a hard time getting out. On land, you wouldn't have a wand, but would be able to hide behind rocks and quite possibly, trees. In the sea, you might be too weak to swim, but could cling to a rock and wait for some one to find you. Finally, you decide.

"I…I'll walk on land," you tell him. Regulus backs up a few steps and waves his wand. The door to the room opens wide. Your legs shake as you begin to walk through the doorway. Regulus leers at you, and then waves his wand once more. The room plunges into the sea, shattering against the rocks.

"Good luck," he says, stepping aside as you wobble past. You clutch your head, which is pulsating unpleasantly.

"Why did you bring me here and not kill me?" You ask him. You ask this as you're just feet away, turned around to look at his somber, clever face.

"This is the place your parents betrayed me." He tells you this straight-faced. "It seemed only fitting to kill their flesh and blood here. I suppose I'm just more soft-hearted than I thought, when it comes to killing defenseless teenagers."

You let out a sigh. In a way, you feel bad for him, but your hate still rushes through your veins. This is the man that killed your parents. If you weren't so weak, if you had your wand, you would kill him.

It's then that Regulus says the words you cannot forget, the words you cannot forgive:

"It wasn't a problem killing your parents, you know. Your father tried to protect your mother, but he didn't have a wand…but she did. I overpowered her. Tied them up…"

"Stop," you scream, placing your hands to your ears, as if blocking the words out.

"And set fire to the house. Your mother screamed when she saw the flames, begged me to kill them both, then and there. But I was going to do to them what they had done to me, I was going to ruin them, slowly…"

You lurch towards him, suddenly feeling a new regeneration of energy, lashing out with your arms.

"No no no," Regulus laughs, easily catching your wrists and squeezing them so tightly that you cannot move. As he does so, your sleeve falls to reveal the Dark Mark on your arm. Regulus's eyes bug out of his head. "What is that? You're…one of them…" His grips tightens on your arm and his expression grows angry. "I made a mistake, thinking you were unlike the others," Regulus spits. Quickly, he walks you backwards, and you gasp. He's walked you right so you're leaning over a cliff. "Goodbye, Miss Validus." Regulus lets go of your arm, and you flail desperately, trying to grab onto something, but it's too late. You fall backwards, your body flying through the air. You try to scream, but no sound comes from your throat, and you do something you haven't thought of. Quickly, before you plunge into the water, you press your finger into your forearm, and the dark mark burns. And then you've sunk into the water. Your clothes billow out around you, and your nerves scream in protest. You try to fight your way to the surface, to draw air, but your arms are weak and the water is pressing down on you from all sides, keeping you tossing and turning through the waves. Your lungs begin to shrink, calling for air, but you can't find your way up. And then, your vision begins to fail. You kick your legs as hard as you possibly can, but to no avail. Black begins to cloud what you can see, and you feel your limbs give out on you, dropping like rocks. You close your eyes and think of Draco, everything about him. Curiously, at these thoughts, the scar on your neck burns, red hot. You feel your eyes fly open in surprise, but you can't see. That's when some one else plunges in the water with you. And some one stronger and bigger than you has you by the arm, and they're pulling you out of the water, and they drag you up onto a flat rock, where you lie for a moment, shuddering and gasping and spitting up water.

"Celia," they murmur, and you hear loud cracks sound out, like people are apparating around you. You feel a hand on your face and you gasp at the touch of the warm human flesh. In an instant, a reel of Draco flashes through your mind, everything you can remember about him, and then, your eyesight is restored. Draco hovers above you, soaking wet, his lips blue from the cold. His eyes are wet, though that may just be from the water, and he holds you tenderly, as if he's afraid you might break.

"How?" You ask, gripping his hand tightly. "How did you find me?"

"It was the weirdest thing," he tells you, grasping your face in his hands, his eyes moving over your features. "I was out in the Village, with my dad and Bellatrix. I…I told them where I had seen you last, and then I felt something, just…I don't know. I just knew where you were. I told my dad, and then I apparated, and I saw you in the water. So I dived in and grabbed you."

"It was Regulus Black," you tell him, remembering. "He wanted to kill me…revenge for something, I don't know what…"

"It's okay." Draco soothes you, pressing his lips to your forehead. "Bellatrix wanted to deal with him. She's up on those cliffs, right now."

"Draco," you tell him weakly. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," he says, chuckling lightly, but his eyes remain worried. "I love you. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you."

"Let's go home," you say, and tuck your face into Draco's shoulder, protected from the whipping winds. You feel his arms clench protectively around you, and then at once, he apparates.

"It's over," he whispers in your ear. "It's all over now."


	27. Chapter 27

~Year 2009:

Narcissa acted as if you were dying. She actually prevented you from going back to Hogwarts, and insisted you stayed in bed. You didn't mind, really. You were beginning to get your strength back. Meanwhile, Draco refused to go back to school until you were fit to support yourself again, and stayed at your bedside all the time.

"What d'you know," you remarked one afternoon, three days after Draco had found you in the water. "I think you're starting to bore me."

The corner of Draco's mouth flickered upwards, but his eyes remained serious. Ever since he had brought you home, he remained extremely protective of you.

"You can laugh, you know," you tell him, struggling to sit up in bed, and pushing him away as he tried to help you. "I could do with that." Draco doesn't say a word, but merely stands by your side as you prop yourself up. You reach up and grab the collar of his shirt, bring his face down close to yours. "I miss hearing you laugh."

"I don't have much to laugh about, at the moment," he says.

You sigh, and press your lips to his. He pulls away, and reaches out to stroke the side of your face. He looks miserable.

"Talk to me," you insist. "You've been despondent. I didn't die, remember? I'm right here." Draco swallows and touches your lips lightly with his fingertips.

"I thought you were dead when I pulled you out of the water," he says, his voice shaking. "It was a reply from when we were younger and I pulled you out of the pool."

"You saved my life, Draco. In more ways than I can even count."

"You know what the first thing I thought of was when I saw you, all crumpled like that?"

You smile. "She looks awful with out makeup?" He can't help but soften at your joke.

"What I would do if you were dead."

You're slightly put-off like this. You don't know what to say to something so blunt, so real.

"What would you do?" You ask, trying to keep the conversation alive, light even.

"Kill myself," he says simply, flattening his hand against the soft quilt, splaying his fingers over the shape of your hip. "Probably toss myself into that water then and there…I'd just let go."

"No," you say firmly, grabbing onto his hand and squeezing it fiercely. "Don't say that, please. It upsets me, to think about death like that. You don't know how precious life really is, Draco." Your thoughts drift to your parents, and he bows his head.

"I don't know what I would do with out you," he says quietly. "I've never been away from you, I don't think I can ever be away from you. I love you."

You reach out and touch his face, turning him towards you. "You never have to be without me." Draco grabs onto your hand and leans in to kiss you, when BAM.

The door to your room is flung open, and Lucius and Bellatrix stand there, looking terrifying. Draco clears his throat and unwillingly retracts his neck, but continues to hold onto your hand.

"We found him, Celia," Bellatrix says, unnerved, sweeping into the room and walking to the end of your bed, where she lingers.

"Where?" You ask, feeling rejuvenated. All the fear you might have had left is gone. Surely, if they found Regulus, he was…Bellatrix plunges a short, silver knife into the polished wood of your footboard, and the blade trembles.

"He was hiding down in the caves," Lucius chips in. "I found him myself." He looks rather pleased by this fact.

"Cowardly bastard," Draco remarks, looking fierce. Bellatrix, however, smiles and lovingly strokes the handle of her silver knife.

"I was charming," she says, throwing back her unruly hair. "I managed to get some information out with very little persuasion, isn't that right, Lucius?" Lucius ignores her.

"It seems," he says, plowing on. "That Regulus had an accomplice in the murders of your parents. In fact, a double, really. Convinced some young chap to take some polyjuice potion."

"So…did he?" You ask, confused. "Did he…?" You can't form the words.

"He did kill your parents," Bellatrix confirms. "We handed the wrong person to the dementors, but what does it matter, really?" Your stomach clenches and Draco glares at her.

"But," Lucius interjects hastily. "Regulus was mad, really. Babbling on and on about betrayal. And then he was going on about some prophecy…" You sneak a glance at Draco. "But we got him. That's all that matters, now."

For the first time, you look properly at Bellatrix, and notice that in the dimmed light, her clothes are soaked in a deep, red, liquid.

"He's dead, then?" You ask in a terrified squeal.

"Of course." Bellatrix yanks the knife from the wood, leaving a deep gouge.

"We'll leave you," Lucius says, more affectionately than Bellatrix, who smiles at you. They exit quietly, Bellatrix accidentally leaving behind a small drop of blood she flicked from her skirt.

"How about that…" you mutter, processing. You feel relieved, and yet, something nags at your gut feeling. The betrayal, you had heard Regulus say it before. What did it mean? What was he talking about?

"It makes no sense," Draco says aloud, as if reading your mind.

"I know," you reply automatically.

"Why would some one make a prophecy about us?" He continues, and you jerk yourself out of your reverie.

"You think it's true, then?" You ask him.

"I didn't, at first," he admits. "Some rambling old bag in knockturn, what was I supposed to think? But it all makes sense, Celia. When I was away from you, I felt sick. Physically weak. Not to mention that I couldn't even attempt to smile."

"So some one made a prophecy about us," you muse.

"Who then?" He asks, genuinely interested. "And why?"

"Our parents, or at least mine, knew." You remember this, something you had thought about, considered, and then pushed away. But now…you lean over Draco's legs and rummage in your nightstand, pushing aside a reading light, a journal, a packet of mints, a broken necklace…until you find the photo album Narcissa gave you. Inside, your mother's words read: Things that may seem unrealistic may help you in the future.

"She knew," you re-state, handing the book to Draco, who studies the words intently.

"What did it say again?" He looks worried now.

"It was so long ago…" you strain to remember. "I do remember this, it said if we denied our relationship, aside from our friendship, it would lead to our demise."

"Our deaths, then?" Draco asks.

"I would presume."

He's quiet. "We can't be apart then. Ever."

"I had no intention of ever leaving you." And that night, Draco sleeps soundly next to you, his hand entwined with yours, leaning his head against your shoulder. And as you listen to the slight whistle of his breath, you know things can and will stay like this for a very long time.


	28. Chapter 28

~Year: 2009

If you weren't paranoid before, you certainly were now. Though you really had nothing to be worried about, Bellatrix had made sure of that. But every creak of a mattress, every crackle the fire produced, the spitting of cauldrons, the wooshing of spells, the sound of footsteps, everything startled you. Draco stuck by you, always there to calm you when this happened.

"Hey, it's okay," he told you one February afternoon as the two of you made your way to the owlery to send home a letter to Narcissa. Some one had walked out of the woods, and you had jumped nearly a foot in the air in shock. "It's that oaf, Hagrid." You pause to watch Hagrid, his huge, slobbering dog by his side, walk into his hut.

"Right." You slip your hand into his and he squeezes yours reassuringly. He pats the piece of parchment sitting in his breast pocket.

"Mum will be pleased to get a letter."

"I hope so. What about Bellatrix, though?"

He shrugs. "Does it matter?" You begin to ascend the steps to the owlery. You place a hand on his shoulder as your legs begin to wobble slightly, you're still rather weak.

"I would rather not die," you say, remembering the blood on her robes.

"Bellatrix doesn't usually kill family," he says with a barking laugh, which echoes out over the grounds.

"I'm not family," you remind him, opening the door to the owlery. The owls hoot at the sudden burst of light, and many of them put their heads under their wings. You let out a soft hoot of your own and hold out your arm, so Cinnia can come down. She flies down with a rustling of her wide wings, and lands softly on your arm.

"Close enough," Draco says with a grin. "I reckon you'll be official soon enough."

"What's that mean?" You ask, your heart beating rapidly against your ribcage. Draco helps tie the letter to Cinnia's outstretched leg. _He couldn't possibly mean…_

"We haven't officially inducted you into the Malfoy family yet. Midnight ceremony and all that, dark robes, candles and animal sacrifice rituals."

"I'm looking forward to it," you tell him, carrying Cinnia over to the window and throwing her out into the wind. Draco comes up behind you and shifts all your hair to one side. He gathers it all in one hand and then leans down to kiss the exposed skin. You turn around to face him and he kisses you on the lips, pushing you against the window sill. You splay your hand against his jaw, place the other on his chest. He leans his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged.

"Come on," you tell him, pushing yourself off the wall and leaving the owlery. The two of you proceed back into the castle and down to the dungeons, where you drag him into the abandoned common room-every one is out at Hogsmeade.

"So what do you have in mind, right now?" Draco asks with a wide smirk, as you step over the ottomans and siddle by the coffee table.

"Come on up to the dorm and you can find out," you call out over your shoulder, attempting to wink. Draco's smirk widens and he begins to run after you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling your feet off the ground. You laugh, then kiss him on the temple as he carries you into the Slytherin boy's dorm.

The night has begun to fall when you wake up. You roll over slightly and feel Draco's skin against yours, cold to the touch. You gently place your fingertips against his chest, and flutter them, tracing over the contours, the scar he received as a seven year old, when he fell out of a tree. Draco's hand suddenly shoots up and grabs yours, holding it still. He yawns and opens his eyes.

"Hi," he says, turning over to face you.

"Hi," you reply, tucking a hand under your head.

"You look beautiful," Draco whispers, reaching out to lay a hand on your bare chest. You self- consciously pull the blankets around your shoulders and smile at him.

"You don't have to say that. Actually, don't."

"Hey, I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. You can tell when I'm lying, anyway." You scoot down in the bed a few inches so you can place your arm over his stomach, curling your fingers against his side. You kiss his pale shoulder, and then rest your head on his collarbone. He reaches up to stroke your hair.

"We're going to be okay, aren't we?" You ask out of the blue, suddenly flexing your left arm, nearly digging your fingernails into his skin. He holds out his own left arm, examining the dark mark.

"We've nearly fixed the cabinet. We have other plans in action. We just have to wait…wait for the opportunity. This can work, Celia. We're smart."

"You're right," you agree. "You're ingenius."

"_I _didn't just get a O on my ancient runes paper."

"You flatter me unnecessarily."

"Ah, well, what else am I good for?" Draco grins and you smile into his neck, rubbing your cheek against the smooth skin.

"Nothing much," you tease him.

"That's not what you were saying an hour ago," Draco says, causing you to blush and smack him on the arm.

It's a few days later when you get the shock of your life. You've just finished up practicing spells for transfiguration with Daphne (changing her appearance) when Draco bursts into the common room, out of breath and wide eyed.

"Celia, I need to talk to you," he says loudly, pushing aside some younger students impatiently. "Move, you twats…" he does a double take at Daphne-you've given her bleach blonde hair and a mole on her upper lip. "Nice mole."

Daphne glowers deeply.

"One second, Daph. This will only take a moment, I swear." You follow Draco over to a corner. He looks worried, his hands are shaking, his robes are in a state of disarray. "What's wrong?"

"Potter's onto us," he says. "I'm not scared of _Saint Potter, _but still. He could tell Dumbledore…"

"Wait, slow down. How does Harry know? What _does _he know?"

"I…I heard Snape talking, Celia. He was talking to Professor McGongall. Said Potter thought that cursed necklace, that it had been mine."

"When was this?" You ask him.

"Just before the break." He runs a hand through his hair. "I didn't tell you at first, I didn't think there was much to tell. Just Potter, running off his mouth. But now…"

"What happened just now, though?" You ask him, taking his hands in yours. "God, you're shaking."

"I was on the seventh floor, in the room of requirement. I needed to get something to Burke. And when I stepped out of the room, Potter was there."

"So?" You ask. "So you were in the room of requirement."

"He knows something's up, Celia. I could just tell."

"Right," you say, looking around the common room. Daphne is examining her reflection in a picture frame, trying to transfigure the mole off herself. "We just need a look out then. Why not Crabbe and Goyle? They're thick enough to do whatever we ask them."

"I would prefer if we worked alone."

"If Harry's really looking at this, Draco, which I wouldn't put past him, it's important that we are careful. We can't have any one knowing about this. Any of it."

"Fine," he says sourly.

"Another thing," you press, smoothing his hair back off his forehead. "You need to keep connections. They keep you grounded. The Dark Lord wants us isolated. It's how he can control us."

"But…I'll never be isolated," Draco says simply. "I'll always have you."


	29. Chapter 29

~Year: 2009

"There's a test run tonight," Draco tells you, as the two of you stand at the top of the stairs in the Slytherin common room. "Bellatrix will attempt to come through the cabinet."

"We have look outs, then?"

"Crabbe and Goyle," Draco admits grudgingly, and then smiles. "I swiped some polyjuice potion from the potions room, and stole hair from some first year girls. I can't wait to see Crabbe as a girl."

You frown. "You're going to make them into girls?"

"If I have to work with people they have to work on my terms." Draco laughs, and then claps his hands together, rubbing his palms together.

"You sound like a spoiled kid," you comment.

"You like it," Draco teases, and you grab his tie to reel him in closer to you.

"You know me too well," you say with a mock sigh, kissing him.

That night, around 7:30, you are sitting in the common room, your feet stretched out on the coffee table by the fire, reading a copy of Transfiguration Today. Daphne's cat, Cainne, sits next to you, purring loudly, digging his claws into the upholstery.

"Hello, Celia," you hear two voices say. You turn around and gasp, then collapse laughing. Two girls, one dark haired and blue eyed, the other red haired and brown eyed, stand in back of the couch, their hands down by their sides, dressed in pristine Slytherin robes.

"Don't tell me," you say, and see Draco emerge from the top of the stairs. "Crabbe on the left, Goyle on the right?"

"How could you tell?" The dark-haired girl asks.

"Your expressions," you reply, throwing down your magazine. Cainne hisses loudly and claws at you, then taking off into the darkness. You shake your hand, and your thumb bleeds. "Shall we go up then?"

"Not yet," Draco replies, coming to your side. He wipes the drop of blood on your thumb and then waves his wand over the scratch, so the skin mends, covering the open wound. Draco raises your hand to his lips and kisses your palm, then folds your fingers over. "You can't come at the same time. They'll have to go first, so it doesn't look suspicious."

Crabbe and Goyle glare at the two of you, and then head out of the common room.

"I think they're in a bit of a strop with you," you tell him.

"Ah, piss it," he says, leaning his forehead against yours. "Not like it matters, anyway."

There's a sudden sound, like some one is having a fit in the room. You look 'round to see Pansy, entering the room with Millicent Bulstrode, looking furious.

"Right then," you say quickly, tugging Draco down the stairs and towards the door. "We'll just get going, then."

"Cunt…" you hear Pansy whisper as you pass.

"You know what?" You explode, and let go of Draco's hand. He hastily tries to grab you by the arm, incase you start swinging your fists. "I am _tired _of you and your crap, Pansy. I have put up with you far too long."

"I can't help it that you're some slut who butted in and-"

"It started long before that, Pansy. I remember when my parents died. And Draco was one of the only ones there to comfort me. You didn't even say sorry when I returned to school, even though you knew full well that I was going through a tough time. No, you freaked out because my best friend was there when I needed him. And you have tried to make my life miserable. And I don't deserve that."

"You…You…" Pansy can't seem to form the words. And then she spits: "I've always hated you. You're just so…ODD. You're weird, bitchy, and frankly," she throws a glance at Draco. "I'm not sure why any one would like you."

"No, Pansy," you correct. "That's not me. You just described yourself. You hate me because though I lost everything I own, I have everything you want." Draco places his hand on the small of your back. Pansy looks from you to Draco, tosses her hair, and glares, though you see a small sparkle of a tear in her eye. She turns away and quickly crosses the room, heading back up the staircase.

"Come on," you say quietly, not looking at Draco.

"Wait," he says, grabbing your arm. "I just…I'm proud of you."

"It was about time I said something," you shrug as the two of you slide through a shortcut, clopping up the staircase.

"I just want you to know, I don't think you're odd," Draco whispers in your ear.

"I am odd," you say simply. "But I'm okay with it."

"If you're odd, then this whole world is screwed up," Draco tells you, taking your hand in his.

Crabbe and Goyle are waiting outside the room as the two of you approach, dawdling as Goyle clutches a heavy set of scales in one hand. Draco looks around and then begins to pace in front of the room, and that's when something catches your eye. A movement, at the end of the hallway.

"I…I have to go to the bathroom," you say suddenly, avoiding Draco's eyes.

"You can always use one in the room," he counters, his hand on the door knob.

"No," you say suddenly, so suddenly that he raises his eye brows. "I…it's at the end of the hallway. Just go on. I'll be there in a minute."

Draco pushes open the door and disappears into it's depth. Ignoring Crabbe and Goyle's curious looks, you quickly head down to the end of the hallway and peer around the corner. At first, it appears no one is there, until you see a trainer peeping out from behind a large vase. You cautiously approach the lone shoe, and then put your hand out, as if searching the air for something. Seconds later, you feel something solid. You tighten your fingers and pull. Harry jumps up as you pull away his invisibility cloak.

"I could see your trainer," you tell him, nodding to his sneaker. Harry snatches back his cloak. "What are you doing, Harry?"

"What's it matter to you?" He asks rather rudely. "Shouldn't you be off somewhere snogging Malfoy?"

"Don't bring him into this," you reply calmly. "Harry, I know you've been…spying."

"I'm not spying," he says hastily, even defensively.

"You're a terrible liar," you say gently.

"What does he do every day in there?" he bursts out, and you quietly try to shush him, looking back towards Crabbe and Goyle, who thankfully, appear not to have heard. "I see him, Celia, he goes in there all the time, alone. He gets paler by the day…he misses class all the time…and, and…you don't look surprised."

"It sounds like you have a crush on my boyfriend," you say lightly, but Harry scowls and you swallow. "It's really nothing, Harry. It doesn't concern you."

"I know what he's doing Celia. And you don't deserve that. You…you're wonderful, perfect, even if you are dating Malfoy." Harry blushes deeply.

"That's nice of you to say," you tell him hesitantly. "I really am sorry, about everything, Harry. But if you feel the way you say you do, you need to stop coming up here."

Harry looks at you, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly, and his eyebrows contracting. Finally, his mouth drops and he says:

"I won't come up here any more."

"Thank you," you tell him. "Now, if you could make on that promise and get out of here, it would be really cool."

Harry grins sadly. "I miss you, Celia."

You're quiet, and you feel your face heat up. You thank the lord Draco isn't here, or Harry might be reduced to a mush of human pulp. As you're thinking this, Harry suddenly lunges forward and grabs your left arm, as if taking your hand in his. At that moment, the dark mark lets out a particularly painful throb, and you bite down on your lip to keep from screaming.

"I, I have to go…" you say, trying to pull your arm away.

"Celia," Harry says, looking concerned. "Your lip is bleeding."

"Yes, well," you say, finally wretching your hand away. "I have to go…Draco's waiting."

"Celia," Harry calls out as you begin to walk away. You turn back to look at him, and he suddenly smirks. "It hurt, didn't it? Your left arm?" And then he slithers out of sight, as quietly and as smoothly as a snake in the grass; nearly invisible and completely deadly.


	30. Chapter 30

~Year: 2009

You didn't tell Draco. You couldn't. You wanted to, of course, but every time you looked at him, you immediately thought of what he would do and what the consequences would be. Harry knew you were a death eater. Telling Draco would just make the situation worse, if it could even be any more awful.

Harry would see you in the hallways some times, grin and wave as if nothing was wrong. You would turn your head, terrified, and ignore him to the best of your ability. He strutted around as if nothing could stop him now.

Come the first day of February, Draco elected to miss potions. He was, as he said "in a bit of a strop."

"Come on," you had said as you snuck into his dormitory. Draco was sitting up in bed, his eyes red, his nose stuffy. You wiggled your eyebrows. "If you come to potions with me, I'll make it worth your while."

"I wish I felt like it," Draco says, leering at you. "But I have a terrible, just terrible headache. I've been laboring over this cabinet ever since Bellatrix got caught in limbo. I need to catch up on sleep or I might just collapse."

"You do look a little…pale," you agree, pressing your hand against his forehead, and then push back his sleek hair.

"But if you still want to make to make my time worthy…" Draco tugs on the front of your robes.

"It doesn't work like that," you say teasingly, sighing dramatically.

"We might as well break up then," Draco teases back. "I only used you for sex."

"It was the other way around," you chuckle, leaning down to kiss him. Draco tugs lightly on a strand of your hair.

"Go on then, you'll be late." You pull away from him and smile. Draco leans out to slap you on the ass as you leave, and you blush deeply and gasp, even no one else is there. However, despite his warning, you were late to potions.

"Sorry, Professor," you said to Slughorn as you rushed in. The clock read two minutes after class started. "I was…busy."

"Quite alright, Miss Validus. Happens to the best of us. Please, take a seat."

You look around for an empty desk, however, there appears to be none.

"Here, Celia!" You feel your stomach drop as some one calls out your name. Slowly, you turn your head towards the back of the class to see Harry, waving an arm. "There's a desk next to me!"

"Ah, thank you, Mr. Potter," Slughorn says, oblivious to the look of horror on your face. "Go on then, Miss Validus. I would like to get on with my lesson."

Every step you take sounds like a huge thud, like you're dragging fetters behind you. Your heart seems to skip beats, and there aren't butterflies in your stomach, but what feels like some one dropping cannonballs. Harry, the slimy bastard, smiles as he moves his books off your chair. Shaking slightly, you take your seat, depositing your books on the desk. More than anything, you wish you had stayed with Draco at this point, just laid down with him, so you could feel his arm around you, maybe the touch of his hand against your jaw, the brush of his lips against your face…

"Celia." Something jerks you out of your thoughts. The class has begun to make their potions. Harry's looking intently at you. "I asked if I could borrow some powdered unicorn horn. I'm all out."

"What do you want?" You hiss suddenly.

"Powdered Unicorn Horn," Harry says innocently, holding a dropper over his potion. Angrily, you thrust your hand into your potions supply kit and draw out a small vial of the powder and toss it at him. He catches it and measures out a bit of the sparkling dust, and then hands it back to you. "Why so angry, Celia?"

You stare at him. _He must be stupider than I thought_, you think. _That, or exceedingly manipulative. _You decide to play it cool.

"I'm not angry," you say. "I have no reason to be."

"That's right," Harry agrees. "You don't. No, I would think you would be more scared. Nervous maybe…"

"What do you mean?" You ask, your hands shaking as you begin to heat up your cauldron. Harry lights your cauldron for you; you drop your wand in fear.

"Well, I've decided that for you, Celia, I will not tell any one your…predicament. A favor."

"I really don't know what you're talking about." Your heart thumps so loudly at this lie that you're surprised it doesn't jump out of your chest, sprout legs, and walk away.

"Oh, you don't?" Harry sounds mockingly surprised. He lifts the left sleeve of his robe to reveal a long, thin scar, like he had been sliced open. "If I'm not incorrect, you have one in the same spot."

"No."

Harry leans over and grabs your left arm. You feel the Dark Mark begin to squirm, and you will yourself not to cry or vomit from the pure pain of it. You wrinkle your face and try to take your arm from his grasp, and Harry smiles.

"I thought so," he says quietly.

"What do you want from me?" you reply quietly. "Will you just stay away from me?"

"That's quite impossible," Harry whispers smoothly as Slughorn sweeps by his cauldron, nodding his head. "No, see, in exchange for my silence, you will have to be with me all the time."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" You ask, spitting slightly and dumping far too many leeches into your potion.

"I want things to go back to how they were," Harry explains, as if he were merely discussing the weather. "You and me. Together again."

"Let me get this straight," you say. "You are blackmailing me. You are blackmailing me so that I will dump the love of my life, my best friend in the world, to be your girlfriend. A girlfriend who would hate you for all of eternity? Who wants to gut you with a unicorn horn every time she sees you?"

"That's right," Harry says seriously, now stirring his potion without looking at you.

"You're mad."

"Well, I guess I could always let it slip to Dumbledore…" He trails off and gives you a terrible grin.

You sit in silence, mulling this over. _What the hell were you going to do now? You couldn't tell Draco, he would kill Harry. He would kill him easily, without even thinking of it. You couldn't refuse, or your cover would be blown. Were you ready to abandon the one you love to help save him? Were you that strong?_

"Okay," you heard yourself whisper miserably. "I…give me a week or two, please. That's all I ask."

"That's fine, darling," you hear Harry reply. At the sound of the word _darling _you feel your stomach turn and vile rises into your throat. You lean over and a small volume of vomit drips into Harry's lap.

"Sorry," you apologize with as much venom as you can muster.

Two weeks later is Valentine's day. By now, your whole house thinks you're crazy. You've fainted, collapsed, and burst into tears at random periods of time for the last few days without any explanation as to why. Draco is as befuddled as any one.

"Come on, Celia," he has murmured to you one morning as you had collapsed on the staircase on the way to breakfast. Rather than help you up, Draco had sunk down next to you. "What's wrong? Tell me, please."

"I think it's just stress," you immediately say, and you hate yourself more than any one. You hate yourself for lying to him. You decide at that moment, what you have to do. Come February 14th, you have to let him know how you feel, how you will forever.

And so, on Valentine's Day, you plan out a day for the two of you.

"Where are we going?" Draco demands as you lead him up the stairs, making sure he keeps his eyes closed. You begin to lead him down the corner where you shared your last kiss.

"Just calm down," you tell him, smoothing his hand in yours. You round the corner and there is the familiar stretch of wall with the tapestry of Dancing Hippos. "Stand still for a moment," you command, and then close your eyes, walking back and forth, until the door appears. You sieze the handle and pull it open.

The room inside is different than the room you usually visit. There's an octagonal, tall, windowed half of the room, that looks out over the lake, just as the sun is setting. In the middle of the room is a small table, complete with candles and a small vase of flowers.

"Okay," you say proudly, turning around. But Draco's eyes are already open wide.

"Celia," he says. "I can't believe you thought up all this. You're not the romantic type."

"Yeah, well," you say, to afraid to admit why you're suddenly feeling romantic. "Are you hungry?"

"Not for food," Draco admits, kissing your neck lightly. You curl into the fold of his arms, and feel your body turn to jelly, nearly knocking the two of you over. "Are you really alright?" He asks for the second time that day. "You seem kind of worried."

"Leg gave out," you mutter, hopping up and down convincingly.

Draco stares at you for a moment, and then turns to look out the windows.

"It's weird, isn't it? To think we'll never come back. Never play Quidditch on the pitch again. Never bully any first years…" you crack a smile at that one.

"We better make the most of it, then," you say, throwing an arm around his neck. Draco skims a hand against your upper thigh, and the two of you collapse to the floor, your limbs entwined.

"I think you're more beautiful naked," Draco says later, tracing your body with his fingertips.

"I'm ugly clothed?" You laugh.

"No, just more stunning without any clothes," Draco corrects shamelessly. You roll over onto him, place your chin on his collarbone. The two of you look outside the windows. The sky is completely dark now, with small dots of stars littering the sky.

"I'll miss this place. Everything about it," you say. "This is where we fell in love. I feel like we'll be losing something when we leave. Some of our relationship."

"It doesn't have to be that way," Draco tells you.

"What do you mean?" You say, sitting up. Your hair falls over your breasts, concealing them from view, and you cross your legs.

"Marry me," Draco says suddenly.

"What?" You ask, your voice nearly failing.

"Marry me, Celia."


	31. Chapter 31

~Year: 2009

"You want me to marry you?" Your heart flutters anxiously in your chest. You want to, you want to yell yes with every atom of energy you possess, and then spend the night with Draco, wake up next to him, your bodies close to each other. But even as all these emotions overwhelm you, urge you on, you swallow deeply and try to think rationally. You reach over Draco's legs, brushing your fingers against the thin scar that runs down the length of one, and then grab your robes. You pull on your bra, and then your shirt, as Draco sits patiently, waiting for you to say something else. "I can't," you finally answer, shimmying on your jeans. "I love you. But I can't."

"Why?" Draco says, leaning over to push your hair back and kiss the spot behind your ear. "Because we're just sixteen?"

"That's not it," you say. Because really, that's not one of your concerns.

"Then why?" He persists, turning your chin gently towards him, and looking you in the eyes. "I know you want to, Celia. Run away with me."

You feel your heart swell, and you press your lips against his, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck.

"I have to go," you tell him, and the words break your heart. He smiles, unsuspecting, and you want to cry, but will yourself to remain calm.

"It's already six," he says. "Classes start in a few hours." He helps you to your feet and leans in to kiss you once more. "I'll see you later, then? We can talk about this."

You think about what Harry has planned for you to do, and want to push him from the room, tell him to run home, that you'll follow him there, that there's nothing left for the two of you at Hogwarts. You look over his smirk, the corners of his mouth, his chin, his eyes and the way his hair falls slightly over his forehead and try to memorize them. _How long will it be before you get to touch those features again? Will you ever kiss those lips again?_

"Yes," you tell him.

And you do see him later that day. In potions, you sit at your desk, attempting to brew essence of exhaustion, when Draco runs in, late as usual. He slips into the seat next to you, grimacing at the sight of the bag of salamander tails.

"Where have you been?" You ask.

"Room of Requirement," he says, heating up his own cauldron. His face is pale, but with feverish excitement. "It worked, Celia. Bellatrix was able to get through. The cabinet is fixed."

"That's so great," you tell him. Any other day of the year, you would have rejoiced at this news, but now, it seems to settle heavily on your shoulders, another burden to bear. You attempt to smile, but across the classroom sits Harry, a smirk visible on his face, his hair glittering slightly in the nearly-spring sun, which filters heavily through the small windows.

"Potter looks right happy, doesn't he?" Draco muses, pouring far too much Essence of Wolfsbane into his potion, and you grab his wrist, yanking the bottle away. "Wonder why?" Draco smirks. "Won't be for long, will he?"

"Draco," you whisper in a small voice, a warning, and Draco shuts his mouth, but continues to smirk widely. When the bell rings, you remember Harry's instructions to fall behind Draco.

"Come on, Celia," Draco says, getting off his stool. "Grab some lunch before we have to go, yeah?"

"I…I can't," you say. You feel your stomach knot up and think of a lie. "I have to talk to Professor Slughorn."

Draco looks perplexed, but leaves, and you turn around to see Harry, weaving his way through the tables. You feel your stomach unknot, but it turns violently at the sight of him, and you feel inclined to empty a bottle of doxie dung on the front of his robes.

"Alright, Celia?" He asks as he reaches the table, and his eyes glitter mischievously.

"Fuck off," you answer, and your voice shakes. "Just tell me what to do and get it over with."

He shrugs and hands you a piece of paper, scrawled in his handwriting. It reads:

_I can't be with you any more. You don't understand, but you drive me insane. It was always Harry. He's always who I have been thinking of. I can't get him out of my head. I was with you to heal the pain of being with out him. We were never right. We were never meant to be._

"You want me to say this?" You crumple the paper involuntarily.

"Yes," Harry says calmly. "In fact, now. In front of more people, the better."

You want to cry, kick, scream, and start punching everything you can, but you know better. Before you leave, you turn to Harry.

"Why me?" You ask softly. "You know what I'm hiding. I would have thought you would turn me in. You fight people like me all the time."

"I don't care about where you keep your alliances," Harry replies. "I care about the person you are. The Celia I know is better than the mark on her arm. When I was with her, everything was right."

"No," you say. "It wasn't." And before he can see the tears fall, you head out of the room, and up the staircase towards the Great Hall. You take one last look at the parchment, and then place it in your pocket. It burns there, like a fire you can't put out.

"Hi, everyone," you say as you approach the Slytherin table. Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini grunt in greeting, Daphne pats the empty seat next to her, and Draco winks at you. "Could I have a moment, Draco?" You ask, your voice shaking.

"Something wrong?" He asks at once, standing up, looking intently at you.

"N-No," you manage to stutter. "Out in the Great Hall?" Every one stares at the two of you. Draco nods, and the two of you head past the table and settle in a corridor by the Grand Staircase. Students are beginning to head back to their common rooms or to their next classes, giving the two of you curious glances as they go. You see Pansy Parkinson skulking by the doorway, clearly hoping to catch a word of what's going on.

"You look pale, Celia," Draco says, moving forward to place a hand to your face. You nuzzle your face into the palm of that hand and kiss his wrist lightly.

"Forgive me," you whisper.

"What?" He asks, leaning closer to hear.

"Forgive me for what I'm about to do," you say to him.

"Celia, what in the bloody-"

"I can't be with you any more," you interrupt. "You don't understand, but you drive me insane." You glance over Draco's shoulders to see Crabbe, Goyle, and Daphne emerging from the Great Hall. They stare at you and Draco, and you force yourself to look into his blue eyes. You try to say with your expression. _I'm sorry. _"It was always Harry. He's always who I've been thinking of. I can't get him out of my head."

"POTTER?" Draco roars, looking furious. But under his anger, you can see his soul break a little. The boy you know so well, who's always fearless, fierce, and intimidating is breaking down, right in front of you. You close your eyes.

"I was with you to heal the pain of being without him. We were never right. We were never meant to be." Draco stares at you. Harry emerges from the dungeon and watches the scene unfold, his arms crossed.

"You're lying," he says, catching your bluff.

"No," you reply.

"Celia, I know you. This isn't…after everything…no."

"Yes," you insist, and feel the tears begin to fall. They splash onto the front of your robes. Draco seizes you and kisses you deeply, and it takes all your resistance not to grab him back. He releases you, then runs a hand over your features.

"Tell me you didn't feel anything. Tell me you don't want to leave school with me. Tell me you do not want to spend your life with me, that you don't love me, that you never have. I dare you, Celia."

"I can't," you tell him, your voice shaking. You're crying freely now, and every one in the Hall turns to stare. "I did. I wanted too. But I don't any more." You glance at Harry, who grins triumphantly. Draco follows your gaze. Draco reaches inside his pocket, searching for his wand, but you grab onto his arm.

"Please," you beg. "Don't."

Draco steps back, and his face is completely solemn, his eyes glacial.

"I'll talk to you later, Celia." And he briskly exits the hall, walking down to the dungeons. Daphne quickly trots up to you.

"Celia, are you alright? What's going on? Did the two of you just break up?"

"Yes. We broke up." You clear your throat and look around the hall. Harry begins to walk over to you. Quickly, you whisper to Daphne. "I still love him. But I can't be with him." And then you let her arm go. She cocks her head, confused, and then Harry is at your side.

"Alright, then, darling?" He asks. Daphne looks from you to Harry and glares at him. She looks disappointed, and then leaves, returning to lunch with Zabini. You stand on your toes so you can whisper to him.

"Don't you ever call me darling again. I want you to know how sick you make me. Everytime I see you, I feel like puking all over the floor. I want to kill you, really, I do. If you do anything, and I mean anything, to hurt Draco any further, I will kill you. And that's a promise."


	32. Chapter 32

~Year: 2009

If you didn't know what being lonely was before, you sure did now. No one, not even Daphne, would talk to you.

"Daphne, let me explain," you had begged that afternoon, following her into the common room.

"No, Celia. What you did to Draco is just awful. I never would have thought you capable of such a thing."

"Really, I-"

"If you really loved him, really, truly, you never, ever would have done what you just did. Especially for Harry Potter. Draco _loathes _him, Celia."

"I know that, but I just can't-"

"Just leave him, alone, Celia." Daphne frowns at you and heads up the stairs. She pauses at the top of the mezzanine, and then looks down at you. "Draco Malfoy might be mean, cruel, dangerous, and exceedingly arrogant, but he was almost perfect when he was around you. It was like watching to broken hearts mend to become one." And then she turns to enter her dorm room. You slump down on the leather couch and place your head in your hands. The tears fall as easily as rain in the Amazon, spilling over your exposed knees and dripping down your nose.

"Celia?" Draco's voice rings out through the common room, and you spin around, the tears spinning out of control. He is standing by a straight-backed chair, his arms held resolutely by his sides. He approaches you slowly, but is sure to stand an arms-length away from you.

"I…I can leave," you say, feeling your voice catch in your throat. You sound weak, tired, and morose. Your suspicions are confirmed when you catch sight of yourself in the shiny, silver platter which sits on a side table; your eyes are puffy, your hair tangled, your make-up running. Your expression is empty.

"No. I…I don't want you to. I need to say something." He clears his throat and his blue eyes harden. "I know there's something you're not telling me. And I don't want you to tell me what it is. I don't need to hear another lie. Because I know you still love me, Celia. I can tell by the way you look at me, even now. The look in your eyes when you talked to me in the Great Hall."

"Please," you beg, asking him to stop talking. This is already harder than you ever could have anticipated. But he holds up a hand.

"But if this is what you desire, Celia. What you truly want, then I will leave you to it. I'm not going to…er…drive you insane any more."

You feel your heart clench at those words, and you reach out to grab his hand.

"I still love you," you admit.

"Then why are you doing this?" Draco demands, drawing his hand away. "I would do anything for you, you know that."

"That's why I can't…" you drift off. You can't finish the sentence.

"I see." Draco smiles sadly. "I'll always be waiting, Celia. For however long it takes you to realize…even if we're both eighty when you finally do so."

"Okay," you choke out. "Um. If you'll just…er…" you can't finish. You run by him, up the stairs and out of the common room, into the dungeons. You trip on the stairs up to the great hall and then sit there, crying into your sleeve, curled up like a bug. Which is what you are. You're a loathsome, evil little cockroach, worse than a maggot, more malicious than a mosquito. You hate yourself. At this moment, after all that's happened to you, even the death of your parents, suicide has never seemed so tempting. You yank back the sleeve of your robe to examine the thin, blue veins which pop slightly from your skin, and then run the tip of your wand over the skin. But then you spot the dark mark imprinted on your arm. You quickly pocket your wand. This, aside from your memories, is the only thing that ties you to Draco. There's no way that you're about the give that, this life, up now.

The next week proves to be difficult in light of that philosophy. You were accustomed to sitting by Draco for Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner. The two of you would make out in shadowy corridors, have sex in the common room, and take walks all around the campus. But now, it was Harry by your side, putting his arm around you, attempting to engage you in coversation, even kissing your neck.

The Slytherins now viewed you as a traitor, and frankly, you didn't blame them. You had abandoned, hurt one of your own, and you were now with the enemy. You were going to pay for it, too. The rest of the house refused to talk to you, eat with you, or even be seen with you. Daphne had abandoned you in favor of Zabini, who seemed more than willing to accept her attention. Draco was the only one who was half-way decent to you, even though you didn't deserve it. Although he wouldn't eat with you or sit by you in class any more, he did stop other Slytherins from picking on you, and assigned Crabbe a week's worth of detention for splitting your book bag in the hallway.

"Sorry, Celia," he had said when Draco had commanded him to apologize. "I just hate Potter is all." You had to resist the urge to say you hated him too, especially when Harry strolled by, and stopped to talk to you.

"What's this?" he asked, looking at your ruined bag, and your textbooks, sopping with ink. Draco, who was a few feet away, in the process of cleaning the brass scales Crabbe had ruined, stiffened.

"I dropped my bag," you say quickly, taking it from Crabbe's hands. Crabbe glares at Harry, and then lumbers away.

"Here, Celia," Draco says, handing you your scales. "D'you need help with your books?"

"I-"

"No, thanks, that's why she has me," Harry interrupts, puffing out his chest and furrowing his eyebrows. Draco sneers at him.

"Tell me," he says suddenly. "What shampoo she uses? Or her favorite book? What's her favorite desert, or the childhood radio program she would listen to every Saturday? You don't know any of it, I guarantee it." And then he walks away, stepping around your books.

"Prat," Harry mutters, waving his wand. Your books soar up into his arms.

"Can you at least pretend not to be such a fucking tosser?" You exclaim. "It really only makes me hate you more when you open your mouth."

"Anything for you." His words only infuriate you more. "Now give me a kiss."

"What?" You demand. This is the first time he's ever asked for anything like this, and you're more disgusted than you are surprised. There are other students milling about in plain view.

"Kiss me. On the mouth." Harry grins at you, and for the first time, you notice a chip in his front tooth.

"You have a chip on your tooth. It's really ugly, you should look in to having that fixed."

"I missed your wit. Now kiss me, for chrissake."

And then he drops your books on the floor with a resounding crash. He grabs you 'round the upper arms and pulls you towards him, pressing those slimy, thin lips to yours. You don't fight it, you simply close your eyes as the tears begin to leak from them. Because this is wrong. This isn't Draco, this isn't what you're used to, and you hate it. At the end of the kiss, Harry lets your arms go, and seeing your tears, rolls his eyes and stalks away. He doesn't see it when you faint, and other students quickly crowd around you, calling for help. He didn't notice when your pulse simply stopped. But Draco did. Draco, the most feared, hated student in the school was immediately by your side, calling your name, begging for you to wake.


	33. Chapter 33

~Year: 2009

The feel of Harry's lips against yours had literally caused you to faint because it was something you weren't used to. Before you could even hit the floor, Draco had rushed up to catch you, while others hustled over to see the commotion. You had laid in his arms, hardly breathing, until, at last, you stirred. The first thing you could hear was Draco calling your name, and then felt him kneeling by your side. Your eyes fluttered open to view an anxious crowd of viewers, who were hovering over you.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked, supporting your head as you made to sit up.

"No," you answer looking him in the eyes. His eyebrows furrowed, and then he got up, walking quickly from scene. Other people crowded around you, but you pushed them away, annoyed. They weren't who you wanted, who you needed. Their concerns and worried expressions just infuriated you further.

"I'm fine," you insist, struggling to get up, holding your hand. You get to your feet, still woozy, and try to walk a little, but trip, nearly falling over again.

"Need help?" A voice asks. Harry has returned, and places an arm on your waist to keep you from falling.

"I'm fine," you say through gritted teeth, but nearly fall again, and grab onto his wrist for support.

"I don't think you are," he insists. "I'll walk you to the dungeons."

You grit your teeth and allow him to start to escort you down the stairs.

"If I haven't told you lately," you spit out. "Eat shit and die."

"It's good to know my feelings are returned," Harry says calmly, beginning the walk down the steep stairs.

You feel your anger rise further, but can't help but ask: "How can you take it? If you feel about me the way you say you do…how can you do this to me? Put me through pain? Make me hate you? Knowing I will always love some one else."

"Well when you say it like that, it sounds bad." Harry cracks a small, sad smile, and you, as much as you can't stand him, return it. "I really loved you Celia. I do, still, obviously, if I want to be with you this badly. And I know you love Malfoy. Maybe…I just hope you'll change your mind."

"I won't," you say bluntly. "I just can't believe that after the way I treated you, which was really, really terrible, that you would still want me."

Harry leads you around the corner.

"Well, you're beautiful, feisty, smart but not a know-it-all, and have a mind of your own. What's not to like?"

"The fact that I'm…you know." You can't bring yourself to actually say _Death Eater._

"I've already told you, I don't believe it was what you wanted."

"It is," you insist, angry that he would pretend to know you. "My parents were, and so I am."

"Do you remember the Quidditch World Cup?" He asks suddenly. "What, two years ago? I remember when the muggles were being tortured, and you were with Malfoy, hunched into a ball, crying. Your voice shook when you talked and the fear in your eyes was greater than I ever could have imagined. You don't want to be one, Celia. I know you better than you think."

"I just don't believe in torture," you say briskly, choosing to act indifferent to this monologue. Harry shrugs and you feel yourself soften the smallest bit. "Find some one else, Harry. Some one who truly cares for you."

But he ignores this. He leans into kiss you on the cheek, hands you your books, and leaves. You sigh, and then turn to the doors, and say the password "Phineas."

When you walk in the common room, Pansy is waiting on the couch. Immediately, you sieze up a bit. You still feel the slightest bit weak, and your arms are loaded with books. But she doesn't say anything right away, or move like she's about to hurt you, so you cautiously enter further into the high-ceilinged room, intent on walking right past her and up to the dorm room.

"Celia?" She says quietly. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Er, yes, of course." You stop walking, and she gets up from the couch. You notice she has a hankerchief in hand, and her eyes are red. She tosses back her hair, and sniffles. She's been crying. "I wanted to apologize…for everything I've said. What you said to me, it's made me think."

"Oh. Well…good," you say awkwardly, placing your books on a side table.

"I want to talk to you about Draco," she says, fidgeting with the hankerchief.

"I really don't…"

"Wait." She just raises an eyebrow. "I know you're not with him any more. But I wanted to say that I've always envied you for your relationship with him. More so when you two started dating."

You remain quiet.

"Anyway. I just…the two of you aren't the same when you're not with each other. I still care for Draco. And I need to make peace with that, with you. I just…you need to be with him. You two need to be together. It's like some odd force of nature."

"I can't. I really, I just can't."

"Just think about it, yeah?" Pansy gives you a smile and puts out her hand. You hesitate, but then shake it. She gives you a half smile, and then leaves the common room, leaving you alone, standing next to the couch.

In one day, you've won a battle, befriended an enemy, and yet, you're more miserable than you ever could have imagined.

The rest of February passes by without much of a comment. You continue to keep up your end of the charade, though, you seem to notice that Harry has become considerably generous about the whole thing. He even tells you he hates himself for doing this to you. Still, you can't forgive him. Because every day, every hour, you see Draco, whether you're awake or sleep. He is at the same table, in the same classes, and you dream about him as well. The only good side to this is you seemed to have gained an ally in Pansy. She's annoying, yes, obnoxious, even. But she seems to have fully transformed. She isn't the best of friends, but at the moment, she's some one you can eat breakfast with, which is a nice change from sitting alone. You feel as if you can float instead of drowning, for the moment.

Everything changes in the second week of March.

You're sitting in the Slytherin common room, on a window sill which has a view of the steep hills that the castle is perched upon. Though you may be in the dungeons, you can see over a small corner of the lake, and a heavily mountained area. The sun is out, though the wind blows slightly. The snow is just beginning to melt, the lake beginning to un-freeze. Suddenly, your peace is shattered when a group of fourth years barge into the common room, laughing loudly.

"Keep it down," you snarl, irritated. Pansy, who's sitting at a nearby table, grins at you.

The fourth years quickly start whispering about you, but they're soon consumed by the rush of students as they pour in from their late afternoon classes, during which you have a study period. Without warning, you suddenly receive a sharp pain in your side, which burns terribly.

""Ouch!" You nearly shout, looking down at your side. Nothing's there. Pansy looks up, alarmed at your outburst. You feel another sharp pain, this time in your chest, and reach your hand up, nearly slapping your breast in the process. There's another pain in your cheek, then your chest, your leg, and your stomach, and then it stops. By this time, your laying on the ground, rolling around in agony. Pansy's at your side, asking for help, but no one seems to hear.

"Celia! Are you okay?"

As quickly as it started, it stops.

"I…that was so weird. It hurt everywhere." You hop up off the ground at the same moment, Zabini runs into the common room, his eyes wide, Daphne is his wake.

"Celia," she says running to you, tears pouring down her face. "I'm sorry. You have to go, you need to make sure-"

"Woah, woah, Daphne." Pansy tries to calm her down. "What's going on?"

"It's Draco." Your heart stops, and time seems to turn to molasses, because everything is slow-moving. You grab her by the shoulders and tears pour down his face. "I'm sorry." Tears begin to pour down her face.

"Tell me Daphne." She begins to cry harder, her hands shaking horribly. "TELL ME FOR FUCK'S SAKE."

"It's Potter." Zabini interrupts, wrapping an arm around Daphne's waist. "He attacked Malfoy."

You can hear the blood pumping through your veins.

Zabini shakes his head.

"There was blood everywhere. I'm not sure he's going to make it."


	34. Chapter 34

~Year: 2009

You run so fast that you send Zabini reeling back, nearly tripping over a small ottoman. You push aside the louder students rudely, and then kick open the door to the common room with the heel of your shoe. It flies open to reveal a very shocked group of first years, who you dash by, your heart pumping rapidly. You run so fast, your robes flying out behind you like a pair of wings, it feels like your feet have left the ground. As you turn onto the seventh floor, you suddenly see red. Harry, his hands shaking and covered in blood, is walking along the corridor.

"YOU!" You scream suddenly, swooping down on him. He holds up his blood-covered hands, his fingers quaking terribly. "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU, YOU LITTLE FUCKER." He recoils at your words, which are so loud and explicit that you're surprised McGongall doesn't expel you in the moment. However, Peeves does show up to make matters worse by chucking chalk at the pair of you and singing:

_Oh Potter you Rotter,_

_What have you done this time?_

_You're such a cotter,_

_You killed the Malfoy slime…_

"SHUT UP, PEEVES!" You howl, pointing your wand at the poltergeist. There's a bang, and he shrieks; his opaque skin has suddenly turned a deep red color with angry boils appearing on his face. "YOU." You round back on Harry, who looks slightly terrified by you. "HOW COULD YOU? AFTER EVERYTHING I TOLERATED FROM YOU. I CAN'T EVEN BELIEVE THIS. IF I FIND OUT YOU KILLED HIM, I WILL KILL YOU. I MIGHT ANYWAY, JUST LOOKING AT YOU, YOU FUCKING TOSSER!"

"He's not dead!" Harry manages to get out over your yells, causing you to stop screaming and catch your breath. You swallow heavily and feel a bit of relief, but just a bit, stream back into your body. You leap at Harry and grab him by the throat, but he doesn't react, except to grab your wrist.

"Good." You snarl. "It's the only thing that's keeping me from killing you on the spot, or handing you over to Voldemort right now." His eyes widen slightly. "We, this deal…It's done. Finished."

"But…" Harry begins to say, but you clench down on his throat.

"No. I DON'T CARE. Tell Dumbledore, tell the castle, scream it from the alps, I don't care. You can do anything to me. But not him. Not now, not ever." You throw Harry away from you, and he trips, holding his own throat and massaging it tenderly. You feel angry tears leak from your eyes, but you ignore them and continue to run along the hallway.

The hospital wing is quiet. The first thing you see as you open the doors is Snape, standing with Madam Promfrey, near one of the hospital beds. You feel your legs liquidfy when you see the body lying on the bed.

"Miss Validus," Snape says, seeing you. He seems to sneer slightly, but it's tainted by an expression of worry. "I knew you would be here."

"Severus," Madam Promfrey says urgently. "I don't know if she should see…"

But you've ignored the two of them and run to the opposite side of the bed. Draco's robes and shirt are ripped open, it looks like some one has taken a knife to them. You can see puckered pink scars crisscrossing his face, his neck, chest, and even his exposed abdomen.

"Hgnggh," you hear yourself say.

"I've been applying essence of dittany, dear," Madam Promfrey says. "The swelling should go down soon, and the scars will fade."

You collapse into the chair next to the bedside chair and look at Draco's limp form. His eyes are shut, his breathing normal. As you watch, one of his hands, which lies by his side, twitches the slightest bit. You reach out, a tear stationary on your face, and take his hand in yours, curling your fingers tightly around his hand. His fingers move slightly at your touch, and his blonde head tosses on the pillow. At that moment, the scar on your neck burns deeply. You gasp aloud, and Snape and Madam Promfrey stare.

"Miss Validus?" She asks, staring intently at you, her eyes peeping out from under a crisp white cap. But you don't get an answer, because Dumbledore opens the doors to the infirmary, his eyes grave, his hands clasped together. He approaches the bed and stands next to Snape, his eyes burning.

"Severus?" He asks.

"As we thought," Snape replies. Dumbledore nods, and then glances at you, his eyes looking over your tear-stained and horrified features.

"Love is the best medicine," he says simply. His eyes look over Draco and then he turns to leave, beckoning Snape along with him. Madam Promfrey stands there awkwardly for a moment, and then leaves, muttering to herself and cleaning up as she goes. You turn back to Draco, and place your other hand on his forehead.

How could you be so stupid? You never, ever, should have gone along with Harry. If you hadn't, would this have happened? Draco might have been with you, not alone…You lay your head on the crook of Draco's elbow, feeling his body heat radiate onto you. It feels as if something lightly touches your head, and you raise a hand to swat it away, but then you shoot up when you realize it's Draco's hand.

"Draco," you murmur, scooting the chair closer to the bed.

"Celia." He chokes. "You came."

"Of course I did." You feel a lump in your throat, and then his eyes flicker open, moving around rapidly. "Nothing could keep me away."

"Not even Potter?" Draco coughs feebly, and then moves his head so he can see you better.

"No," you say, your voice quavering. "Not even close." You reach out and smooth his hair, and he manages to smile slightly, but the smile stretches the scars and he winces. "Potter isn't a problem any more."

"He's not?" Draco asks doubtfully.

"Not after I nearly strangled him a few minutes ago," you admit. Draco squeezes your hand.

"I'm so so sorry," you tell him.

"So am I," he says rather sadly. "But it's not your fault Celia."

"You are a liar. But I don't care." You lean in and press your lips to his. Draco tentatively places a hand on your cheek, smoothing away the tears with his thumb. You break away and close your eyes, shaking from the contact. "Thank God you're alive."

"You felt something, didn't you?" Draco asks suddenly.

"I felt like something was slicing me open," you tell him, surprised by this. "How did you know?"

"Just a guess," Draco says, sitting up.

"Are you sure that's okay?" You ask, moving around anxiously, wringing your hands.

"I just…" his voice trails off and you lean down to hear him. He places a finger under your jaw and curls it, hooking your chin so it's closer to his lips.

"Don't leave me again." It's not a question, but it comes out like one.

"Never," you say truthfully, fusing your lips tightly to his. You close your eyes and wrap your hands around the back of his slightly scarred neck. Peace has been restored to your universe. You feel another tear leak from your eye, and smile. This time, you cried from joy.


	35. Chapter 35

~Year: 2009

Being with Draco again was as sweet as finding water in the middle of the Sahara desert.

So, it's true that while the house rejoiced to see the power couple return to it's former glory. However, the rest of the school seemed to be dismayed, to say the least. A lot of the students were angry at this news, feeling, in some way, that you had betrayed the Golden Boy.

"Slut," one girl whispered on the stairwell.

"Whore," her friend joined in. You continued on your way, your head bent. So the school hated you. It didn't matter. You had Draco by your side once more, and Pansy and Daphne as well.

"Shut up," Daphne spat at them as you continued on, halting near the top of the stair. "She's no more a slut than you are skinny." The larger of the two girls blushed deeply, and then trotted down the stairs.

"Thanks for having my back," you tell her as the two of you enter Transfiguration.

"It's no problem. Besides, I need to make up for the time I didn't," she says. The two of you smile at each other, somewhat awkwardly, and then enter the classroom.

Draco is waiting for you. You slide into the seat next to him, and he leans over to catch a kiss.

"Hi," you say rather breathlessly when he pulls away. He smiles at you, and you can see the faint outline of the scars crisscrossing his face. You look away, feeling guilty, and then close your eyes when Harry enters the classroom, closely followed by Ron and Hermione.

"Are you alright?" Draco asks, noticing your stiff posture. You glare fiercomely at Harry, who hastily takes a seat in the front of the class, his back to you. Draco stares stonily at his back, no doubt cursing him to hell.

"Yeah," you exhale. Under the desk, you take his hand in yours and entwine your fingers with his. You can feel his pulse beat against your own, like they're one. "I'm fine."

Professor McGonagall enters the classroom and taps her wand loudly on the front desk, hushing the quietly buzzing students.

"I would like to begin my lecture today…" she pauses, and raises an eyebrow. You follow her gaze to receive a shock. Draco is raising his hand. An odd predicament, because Draco hardly ever shows any class participation, except in potions. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I had a question about magical injuries."

The rest of the class turns to look at him, and you feel yourself blush.

"That would be a question to ask Madam Promfrey," Professor McGonagall says, looking icy.

"It's not so much about a injury, more about the magical properties of one."

"I…" McGonagall looks perplexed, but adjusts her glasses, and then nods. "Alright then. Ask your question and I will do my best to answer it."

"If one was to be severely injured…" you see Harry squirm in his seat. "Would another be able to feel it, the pain? How would they be able to do so?"

McGonagall looks a bit surprised and taken-aback by the question. She is quiet for a long moment, and stares at Draco, her lips pressed tightly together.

"I suppose, Mr. Malfoy, that this would indicate a few different scenarios. One, the second person is a blood relative of the victim. It is known that blood relatives, siblings and twins especially, can feel another's pain. Another possibility is that the person who would endure the pain is the caster of the spell. Sometimes, the human conscious reacts to a spell, and reflects it back onto the caster, especially if they feel remorse…"

"Is that it?" Draco asks, looking slightly disappointed.

"No." Professor McGonagall's nostrils flare and she straightens up taller, the tip of her hat quivering. "There have been situations where two souls are connected. This usually occurs with dark magic, where some one transfers a bit of their soul into another. This gives them shared traits, characteristics. And the ability to feel the other's pain."

"How would some one know if this applied to them?" You hear the words tumble out of your mouth before Draco can even open his. He smirks at your question.

"There is a section in the Ministry of Magic that contains every prophecy ever created." At these words, Harry, Ron and Hermione all look down. "A sufficient number of prophecies were destroyed last year, but a few were saved. A prophecy would predict this, and you would have your answer." Draco nods and then puts his hand down, resting his elbows on the desk.

"What was that about?" You whisper under your breath.

"I think it's time we finally got some answers, Celia. Both you and I know there's something here that is past our control."

You fall silent, and take out a bottle of ink, a quill, and parchment, and attempt to push this conversation from your mind.

However, it's not an easy thing, to try to push away nagging feeling. You feel as if there's a nettle in the back of your neck, that no matter how hard you try, will not be removed.

"You're thinking about what McGonagall said," Draco tells you one night, as the two of you sit down by the lake. You push up the sleeves of your oversized sweater and prop your elbows into the sand, and put your head back, so you can look at the sky. The stars twinkle innocently above you, and when you look at Draco, you can see their reflection in his pale blue eyes.

"Yes. I just can't imagine that there really is a prophecy about us, a recorded one and everything."

"We heard it," Draco points out, kicking off his shoes.

"My parents knew about it," you add.

"We can feel each other's pain. And haven't there been times where one of us has saved another's life?"

"I never saved your life," you point out.

"Yes, you did." Draco pushes your hair back behind one ear. "I don't think I would be who I am today without you. That's not saying much…but, I think…you saved me."

"Saved your sanity? I'll take it," you say with a triumphant smirk. Draco kisses you, rolling you into the sand, and you wrap your arms around him, tracing the slight bulge of his shoulder blades. "I missed this," you say, moving your lips from his earlobe down to his neck.

Draco doesn't reply. And you pull away, to rest your head on the sand and look at him. He hovers above you, his blonde hair glinting like a halo.

"What is it?" You ask.

"I missed this too," he says, but he looks somewhat bothered. "But I wonder…did you ever do this with Potter?"

"No," you reply immediately, sitting up so fast you nearly send him reeling. You connect your hands and then hook them over Draco's shoulder. You lean your forehead into his jaw. "I couldn't…ever. That whole time, all I thought about was you?"

"Are you ever really going to tell me what happened?" Draco questions. He doesn't sound angry, per se, but rather, annoyed or disappointed.

"Yes," you tell him. "Maybe not today, or tomorrow. But someday. I can't keep anything from you. I love you too much."

Draco puts a hand around your waist and pulls you in closer to him, knocking your hips against his. You place both your arms around him, draping yourself across his chest, locking your lips against his.

"Okay," he murmurs when you pull away. "I trust you."

"Thank you," you tell him. Because, at this moment, you are so grateful to not have to talk about Harry. You don't want to talk about him, ever. Or the fact that you were so depressed, you nearly killed yourself.

"Just tell me one thing," Draco says, holding out your left arm. He traces around the Dark Mark with one finger. "Am I going to have to kill some one?" He says this with a laughing tone, but the words plunge an icy dagger into your heart, filling you with fear.

"No," you say quickly. Too quickly, in fact. Draco notices, and stares at your face. "Just…the person we're assigned to kill, of course. No one else."

"You know I wouldn't really kill any one, Celia. Not willingly. Hurt, maybe. Torture, possibly. But not kill."

"Yes, I-"

"Unless they hurt you." Draco suddenly looks far more terrifying than you've ever seen him. His jaw twitches, his eyes stare straight ahead, deadpan.

"Right," you say, trying to turn his face towards yours. He relents, and his expression softens when he sees your anxious one. "We won't have to worry about that for a long time."


	36. Chapter 36

~Year: 2009

Your sixth year started to come to a close. April passed quickly, the days slipping by, one after another. The days became progressively warmer as the sun rose earlier and set later.

However, these were not days to enjoy. By May, both you and Draco were stressed about your mission from the Dark Lord. It had yet to be completed, and was growing harder to accomplish by the minute. Dumbledore was almost always gone from the school, and the poisoned mead seemed to have failed.

"We have to do something, Celia," Draco said one afternoon in May, as the two of you sat in the room of requirement, brainstorming. You run your hand against the door to the vanishing cabinet, open it, and the close it. Small dust particles escape, causing you to sneeze.

"What can we do?" You lament. "We've come up with three different scenarios, two of which failed." You sit down next to him and curl up, placing your legs across his. He lies down, placing his head in your lap. You place your hands on his head, running your fingers slowly through his hair.

"When do we put the third into action?" He asks, shifting around, so he looks up at you. He looks fearful, anxious, and his widened eyes suddenly reminds you of the little boy you used to know, who feared nothing.

"We find a day Dumbledore returns from a long trip."

"We could create a trip for him to embark on," Draco suggests.

"Don't you think that could be construed as suspicious?" You say gently. "After all, the world knows the Dark Lord is back. Just coming up with a surprise meeting might not end up well."

"True," he comments. He pulls your chin down to his, so he can plant a kiss on your lips. "This is why I keep you around."

"I thought you just kept me around for sex," you laugh, sliding your legs out from under him, so you can roll on top of him.

"We should concentrate," he mutters, but even as he says this, he slides his hand under your shirt to unbutton your bra.

"Concentrate on this," you say, taking his face in your hands and kissing him, growing breathless as his hands move down the length of your body. Draco's hands find their way down to the waistband of your skit, which he unbuttons and yanks down your legs. You lift your robes and your shirt over your head, and throw them into a heap in the corner. Draco's hands move down to your thighs and stroke the inside, and you feel your body shiver uncontrollably. You reach for the top of his robes and quickly rip them open, unknotting his tie, and then unbuttoning his shirt. Your fingers scrabble at his slight muscles, and then grab at his belt-buckle, yanking it up and sliding the belt from his pants.

"Jesus," you hear him whisper in your ear as he pulls down your underwear. He moves his lips from your lips down to the curve under your breast, moving his tongue lightly against the skin. You moan loudly, and then grab onto his arms, digging your fingernails into his skin as he cups his hands against your breasts. Wordlessly, you free him from his pants, snapping open the top button and then tugging them down his legs. And then he's opening your legs, and Draco's lips are on yours, and you can smell his aftershave. And then he's thrusting inside you, and it's blissful, the best feeling in the world. Because you're in the arms of the one you love. You bury your face in his neck, pressing your lips against the skin as he moves above you.

"I love you," you whisper, running your hands down his back, angling your hips against his.

"You mean everything to me," he replies. And then he moves inside you once more, and the feeling is like heaven. And then you feel the rushing crescendo of your body, and you press yourself against him. Panting, Draco rolls off you, and you cuddle into his side, placing your head in the crook of his shoulder. "If that wasn't clear," he says, "I love you too."

"I got the message," you whisper, kissing his chest. Draco runs a hand over your head, smoothing it away from your slightly sweaty face.

Later, the two of you sit at the Slytherin table, eating a full dinner of meat, potatoes and grilled vegetables. For the first time in days, you feel somewhat relaxed. Draco sits across from you, rubbing his foot lightly against the top of yours. You smile lazily at him, and then there's a disturbance as Daphne sits down next to you, and Zabini next to Draco. Draco clears his throat and glares at Zabini. You feel yourself smirk, and then look down at your food.

"Hear 'bout Weasley?" Zabini says in a nasty tone, with a rather short laugh.

"Shame it wasn't Potter," Daphne adds with a sideways glance at you.

"What happened?" You ask, scraping zucchini onto the side of your plate.

"Got poisoned," Zabini says, leaning forward, rocking on his elbows.

"How?" You ask, suddenly feeling concerned. You never liked him, but poisoned? No one disliked him that much.

"Heard he drank something in Slughorn's office," Daphne tells you. "Thought it was an antidote."

"Bloody tosser," Zabini chuckles, downing water.

You look at Draco, eyes wide. He stares at you for a moment, his blue eyes reflecting your own feelings, and then stands up.

"I have to go," he says.

"I'll come," you tell him, reaching for your bookbag.

"No." He says this firmly, and closes his eyes. Daphne looks from you to Draco, her mouth slightly open. Zabini doesn't seem to notice anything, but continues to eat. "I mean, I'll figure this out." And then he exits, leaving behind a confused air.

"What was that about?" Daphne asks, watching him go.

"I have no idea," you lie, turning back to your meal. Daphne looks perplexed, but then returns to her plate. After dinner, the three of you return to the common room, where you try to finish some left over charms.

"This is terrible," you groan, waving your wand. The charm fails miserably, and the wine you're turning to water turns yellow. "I can't concentrate."

"What do you have to worry about?" Daphne asks, looking confused. She raises an eyebrow.

"Er…" you say, looking away.

"Celia!" Draco comes through the door to the common room, dashes down a few stairs and then deposits his book bag into a chair. "Can I talk to you for a moment?" You get off your knees and join him in the corner.

"What's going on?" You ask, noting his furrowed brow and glistening skin, as if he's been running.

"I talked to Snape," he says, his eyes moving over your face. "Weasley was poisoned, but it won't be traced back to us."

"Thank God," you say, leaning your forehead against his. He moves his hands down the length of your arms, and then places them on your waist.

"Two weeks from now," he tells you suddenly. "Snape let it slip…Dumbeldore will be gone in two weeks. We can spring the plan into motion."

"We have to write to Bellatrix right now," you say. "She needs to bring back-up, just in case. Do you know what time?"

"Late evening," Draco says. "We'll confirm later, keep watch." You look into his eyes, which look like they did earlier. Scared, anxious. You wrap your arms around his neck.

"You know it's going to be alright," you tell him, smoothing the hair that just touches the back of his neck. "We're going to get through this, and be just fine."

"Nothing will go wrong," he says aloud, and it sounds as if he's trying to steel himself.


	37. Chapter 37

~Year: 2009

You began to practice for the night the Death Eaters would invade the castle. The Dark Lord had assigned Draco to carry out the actual murder, while you, Bellatrix, and the others were to hold up the hallways that lead to entrances and passageways. You and Draco spent nearly all your spare time in the room of requirement, practicing jinxes and curses.

"Come on, Celia," Draco coaxed one night. You close your eyes. He was around the corner of the room, his back to you. You were practicing sending message by Patronus, which is how you would notify the Death Eaters. "You've almost got it."

You open your mouth, sigh, and raise your wand. You draw a memory of you and Draco from the back of your mind, from your childhood, when you and Draco sat close to each other in the tall grasses, laughing, occasionally knocking a leg against each other. You think of this when you say: "Expecto Patronum."

A panther explodes from the tip of your wand, slinks across the floor towards Draco, it's tail swinging dangerously. It leaps to Draco's side. You hear the ghost of what sounds like your voice, and then the panther disappears.

"Perfect," Draco says, turning to smile at you. You smile back.

"Come on," you say. "Show me what you've got now." Draco's smile fades instantly. He takes a deep breath and you come to his side. He raises a shaking arm, and you place your hand on his wrist, steadying him. He clears his throat.

"A-Avada Kedavra," he whispers. The green stream of light hits the wall opposite, burning a hole straight through the stone.

"Maybe you should practice on something live," you suggest gently. You wave your wand silently, and a bird appears, twittering as it flies above your heads. You wave your wand again and it's paused in mid-air.

Draco looks away from the bird, as if it's dangerous.

"You have to make sure," you tell him quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder. He covers your fingers with his own, and then drops your hand.

"Avada Kedavra," he says. The flash of green hits the little bird right in the chest, and it falls to the floor with a finite thump. You wave your wand so it's body disappears. In a way, you feel that the body of the bird represented your future. As Draco places his arms around your waist and you bury your face in his neck, you wonder what will happen next. _Will your future be cut as abruptly as that bird's life? What if you fail? _But then Draco kisses you, and you tell yourself that you can't fail. You look up into his eyes and know that he depends on you and vice versa. Neither one of you is going to let the other down.

The day arrives five days later. You and Draco are in the Slytherin common room, sitting on the couch. Draco is playing with a fanged Frisbee he stole from a first year, and your looking over old potion notes. The doors to the room open and Snape, hunched over and greasier than usual enters, his hook nose protruding horribly.

"Miss Validus, Draco," he calls, beckoning the two of you forward. You exchange a nervous glance with Draco, and then push yourself off the couch. Slowly, you take your steps towards Snape, your heart heavier than lead. "The time has come," he tells you. "Dumbledore has just told me he intends to leave the castle in ten minutes time. You need to prepare, now." He nods once, and then leaves, returning, no doubt, to his private quarters.

"Are you ready?" You ask Draco, your hands shaking. You feel a sense of terror well up inside you, causing you to stumble over your words.

"No," he says truthfully, but stands taller. "Not at all. But I have to be, don't I?" He leans in and presses his lips to your forehead. More than anything, you just want to wrap your arms around his neck and stay like that.

"What if it doesn't go right?" You ask, your voice shaking as you reach out to straighten his collar. "What if we can't…?"

"We have to," Draco insists, his voice sharp.

"You're right," you relent. "I…I'll go. Prepare." Draco suddenly seizes you, presses his lips to yours, tugs lightly on your hair, and then is gone. Your legs shaking, you raise your wand in the air, thinking of him, his kiss, and then whisper the charm. "Expecto Patronum." You see the panther whiz by, and know it has worked. Without another thought, you sprint from the room and up the stairs, towards the Great Hall. In your hurry, you nearly bump into some one.

"Oh, excuse me," you say. And then you feel the nervous pit in your stomach explode. You almost just collided with Dumbledore.

"Hello, Miss Validus," he says, looking down at you over his spectacles, which are balanced precariously on the tip of his crooked nose. "I trust your evening is going well?"

"Oh…yes, Sir. Very much so."

"Good, good." He replies. Dumbledore pats his beard. "I do trust you will be successful in your…ah…studies, tonight."

These words cause you to freeze up. Your mouth drops open, and you feel yourself shake your head. Is it possible Dumbledore knew? All along? Was he planning to leave and never come back, so that your mission would fail?

"Erm. Yes," you hear yourself spit out. "I hope so."

"We all do, Miss Validus." He smiles. "Good night, now. I must be going." He waits for a moment longer before turning and heading out the doors, nearly taking three normal steps at a time. You shake your head, your fears, away, and then run up the Grand Staircase, towards the Room of Requirement. The Death Eaters had already arrived when you entered the Room, you could hear them entering the cabinet, one by one.

"She should be here," you hear Bellatrix grumble. "For fuck's sake, Rowle, just push open the doors already." But you beat him to it, pulling open the doors so abruptly that the Death Eaters tumble out, falling all over each other. Bellatrix is the first to stand, her frizzy hair nearly inches taller than you.

"Celia, my dear," she beams, as if she was greeting you on your wedding day, rather then the day you were assigned to commit the most meaningful murder in wizarding history. "You remember Rowle, Dolhov, The Carrows, and Fenrir." You shudder slightly at the appearance of the last man, who's skin is scaly and nails are sharpened to a knife-like tip.

"Right," you say. "Here's the plan. Draco believes that setting the Dark Mark over the Astronomy Tower will draw Dumbledore there first thing."

"Smart boy," Bellatrix says with a laugh. She takes something from her pocket, and you recognize her silver knife. She picks between her teeth with it.

"We need to block off that corridor so only we can reach it. That is, those of us with dark marks. The teachers and students cannot be allowed up there."

Fenrir picks at his fingernails, and lets out an excited breath, which reeks of sullied flesh.

"Right," you continue, distracted. "Erm. We think that Harry Potter might know what we're up to, that he warned others. Something he said to Draco…I don't know." You remember what he knows about you, and pray to God that Harry's not smart enough to piece two and two together. "Just…watch out. Okay?" You check your watch. It's nearly ten minutes to eleven.

"Come on, everyone," Bellatrix whispers in her rapsy voice. She begins to leave the room, the Death Eaters trailing behind. As soon as the door opens, you spot Draco, holding his hand of Glory, the shriveled hand his father gave him as a birthday present nearly five years ago.

"I spotted the mudblood Granger and others on their way up," he says, his eyes wide.

"I've got this," Bellatrix says, delighted, drawing her wand.

"No," you insist, holding out a hand. "We can't draw suspicion. Here." You reach in your pocket and find what you're looking for; a handful of glittering black powder. You link arms with Draco, and Bellatrix on your other side, and then wait. As you see Granger's bushy hair round the corner, you throw it into the air, blinding you all.

Immediately, you hear screams and a moan. Granger brought friends. But you have no time to waste. Draco pulls you forward, steering carefully around the blundering Gryffindors. You hear Belatrix hiss at Neville Longbottom, who jumps a foot in the air.

"This way," he urges you all quietly. You run up a narrow staircase, which leads to the astronomy tower. Half-way there, you stop.

"We need you to stay here," Draco commands of the group. "Keep watch and set up the barrier. We'll be down soon. It won't take long." He extends his hand to you. You look back at the rather frightening group of people looking back at you. _These were people my parents trusted, _you tell yourself. And then you slip your hand into his. Draco pulls you up the stairs and through a set of glittering gold doors. Night has completely fallen now, and the only sounds come from the soft swooshing of owl's wings as the fly by, and the hum of the Death Eater's voices as they begin to cast protective enchantments.

"Cast the mark, then," you tell him.

"Thought you should do the honors," he says quietly.

"What a gentleman," you reply lightly, in contrast with the morose mood. You raise your wand above your head. "Mordsamore." The entwined skull and snake shoot into the sky, casting an eerie green glow onto the tip of the trees. Seconds later, you can faintly see a figure rise into the air.

"That'll be him," you say. "Come on, let's hide below until he arrives. I think it might blow our cover if we were just waiting here." You and Draco quickly run down to the half-way point of the staircase, where you sit quietly, your bodies shaking with nerves. Finally, you hear the sound of footsteps above your head. The Golden Doors open, and then you and Draco spring, shooting out onto the tower. Draco disarms Dumbledore, who leans against the side of the castle, looking weak.

"Who else is here?" You ask immediately. Two brooms float above the ground. Draco trains his wand on Dumbledore, and you kick Dumbledore's wand aside.

"Very good, Draco, Celia," Dumbledore says, nodding. He slips a little, and then regains his balance.

"We have to kill you," Draco says, his wand trained on Dumbledore.

"_You _have to kill me," Dumbledore corrects.

"No," you say, your voice loud. "We. Both of us, together."

Dumbledore looks at you and smiles sadly. "This is not what your parents would have wanted, Celia. It is not what you want." You glance at Draco's profile.

"Yes, it is."

"Your parents were good people," Dumbledore continues. "Yes, I knew them. They came to me years before they died. They gave me valuable information on Voldemort."

"N-No." You refuse to believe it. He's stalling, is all. "They wouldn't. They were loyal."

"They gave me information they would later use to try to have Regulus Black killed," Dumbledore continues. "They did it to protect you. You were ever so dear to them."

You turn away from him, feeling suddenly sick to your stomach. It makes sense now, why Regulus wanted revenge.

"But what?" You ask. "What did they know?"

Dumbledore looks blankly at you. "Voldemort's innermost secrets, shared only by his most faithful followers."

Draco tightens his grip on his wand. "I don't believe it."

"You don't have to," Dumbledore says. He turns his gaze to Draco. "Now, now, Draco. Be rational. You are not a killer."

"How do you know?" Draco says, and you nod. "I've killed things before. I'm capable."

Dumbledore smiles softly. "Forgive my arrogance, but you've tried to kill me twice this year, and twice, you failed. I had to wonder if your heart was in it, really and truly."

"It is," Draco insists. "I've worked hour after hour on this. I have to…" he looks sideways at you. "I have to do this, or he'll kill everyone I love."

"I-"

"Everyone!" Draco roars. "My family, and Celia. He'll take everything from me."

"We can offer you protection, Draco. Protection no one else can provide. We can keep your mother and father safe, and of course, Miss Validus here." Draco looks at you again, and you see his eyes soften. He opens his mouth, and slackens his grip.

And then the doors to the tower open again, revealing Bellatrix, Fenrir, the Carrows, and Rowle.

"Hello, Dumbledore," Bellatrix leers. "Nice night for eternal sleep, don't you think?"


	38. Chapter 38

~Year: 2009

"Hello, Bellatrix," Dumbledore says politely, as if making light conversation at a garden party. "Ah, you've brought Alecto, Amycus, and Fenrir along. Charming, charming."

"That's your problem, Dumbledore," Amycus wheezes. "Always talking, doing nothing."

"My downfall, I'm sure," Dumbledore replies, inclining his head. "Glad these two caught it in time." He nods towards you and Draco. You gulp and slide into Draco's shadow, scared and uncertain of what's about to happen. Draco clears his throat and presents his wand, holding it like a gun.

"Come on, Draco," Bellatrix urges him. She licks her lips, like a rabid dog. "Get it over with."

"Do let me have some fun first," Fenrir says, using his yellow thumbnail to clean out a gap in his teeth. "I'm starving."

Dumbledore makes a slight movement, and every one whips around to keep an eye on him. At the same moment, you hear a sound from below, a shout, and what sounds like a tussle.

"Hurry, Draco," Bellatrix pants.

"Draco…" you whisper. You're not encouraging him, but not telling him to stop, either. You're far too cowardly for that. There's another outburst down the stairs, and the sound of some one falling. Fenrir licks his lips.

"Delicious, delicious," he says aloud, looking tauntingly at Dumbledore, who slips a few more inches down the wall. "So many throats to rip out. I fear I may be getting greedy, Dumbledore."

"I'm surprised Draco and Celia invited you into the castle, Fenrir." Dumbledore glances at the two of you. "With all their friends downstairs." You glance fearfully at Draco, thinking of Daphne and Pansy, who are probably sitting in the common room right now, or lying down. Draco's jaw twitches, and you can tell he's thinking of Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini.

"I didn't…" Draco says, looking around.

"Relax," Fenrir growls. "No slytherin blood will be spilled."

Draco's form relaxes the smallest bit, but you're still tense. There should only be one murder committed tonight, no more, and no less. The thought of fellow students dying scares you, and the thought of killing a defenseless Dumbledore saddens you, makes you feel guilty and hopeless. Were you to be trapped for the rest of your life? Is this how things were supposed to be? Following plans blindly, without a regard for human life?

"Let Celia do it," Bellatrix snarls suddenly, losing patience with Draco, who seems unable to do the spell.

"No," he insists, his voice suddenly stronger. He turns to look at you, and for a moment, it looks as if there's a sparkle of a tear in his eye. "I can't let her do that." He turns away from you, and raises the wand, and opens his mouth. There's a loud crash, and Snape bursts into the room. Draco lowers his wand, a look of relief creeping onto his features.

"Severus," Dumbledore says, sounding, for the first time, scared. Almost as if he's pleading. You close your eyes, afraid to watch. There's an excited utterance, and then something whooshes past you, and you hear it hit something solid. Draco exhales deeply, his breath whistling between his teeth. He quickly wraps an arm around your shoulders and steers you away, your eyes still closed.

"Snape," you hear Bellatrix begin.

"Enough, Bella," he snaps. "We will be found out soon. Miss Validus, open your eyes for godssake."

"Don't tell her what to do," Draco says, sounding defiant, but you gently squeeze his

arm and he relents, turning his forehead into your hair. You can feel his pulse, running faster than usual, and his body is shaking lightly. The group quickly runs down the spiraling staircase, and through an invisible barrier, you and Draco in the middle, Bellatrix on one side, Alecto on the other. As you come down from the tower, spells begin to fly in the midst.

"The order," you hear Bellatrix say with a derisive laugh. She raises her wand and brings it down like a knife, and the people standing at the bottom of the stair are thrown back.

"Wait," Snape says, throwing his arm out to stop you and Draco. "Let them clear the way." Bellatrix beckons to the other death eaters, who quickly take off after her.

"Where's Rowle?" You ask, noticing his absence. As if on cue, you hear a loud thump overhead, as if some one has been stunned.

"Go," Snape urges, looking over his shoulder, and you and Draco hurry out through the barrier. There are spells in the midst, but none of them are directed at you. Draco takes your hand, and the two of you slip through the crowd, under the protection of being Hogwarts students. Snape leads the way, shunting others aside in his hurry.

"Snape!" You hear some one bellow. You look behind you to see Harry, his wand raised in the air, shooting stunning spells over Snape's head. One nearly hits Draco, and you retaliate, shooting more spells at Harry. He is forced to dive out of the way, and Draco pulls you behind a tapestry and down a passageway, down a chute, which leads into the Great Hall.

A loud noise greets you when you enter. You look up to see the stained glass window over the doors shatter into a million pieces, glass raining down like fatal raindrops. Draco shouts a protection spell, and you're immediately safe; the glass bounces away from your head and hits the wall opposite. You glance up the Grand Staircase to see Bellatrix, shooting spells over her shoulder as members of the order converge closer.

Snape opens the doors and pushes you and Draco through, ignoring the large groups of students who have emerged from the dungeons to see the source of the noise. In the crowd, you see Daphne, her pale face standing out from the others.

"Celia!" She yells, her hand raised. You want to shout back, tell her it's all okay, you'll be back, but you're not sure you can. You swallow, and look away. Draco, hearing your sniffles, pulls you through the doors as quick as he can, entwines his fingers with yours, and begins to run as fast as he can, pulling you along like a rag doll. Your feet move, but your heart longs to stay. You wish you could just slip back into the common room, fall asleep in your bed, but you know it's too late for that now.

"Snape!" In the darkness, you hear Harry's voice ring out again. A stunning spell rushes past you, shooting off into the night. You pause, and turn around. Draco stops too, watching Snape and Bellatrix, who have stopped to battle Harry.

"Go," Snape suddenly says, turning around. Bellatrix raises her wand, there's a bang, and then Harry is lying on the ground, convulsing. You make a sudden movement. Horrible as he is, selfish as he is, he doesn't deserve the cruciatus curse. You look at his poor, trembling form, and you're reminded of your parents. Were the subjected to that before they died? "GO," Snape roars. "Leave him, Bella! Leave him for the Dark Lord." Bellatrix turns away, a smirk on her thin face. She rushes to you and Draco.

"Come on," she says roughly. The three of you exit through the front gates of the school. Bellatrix evaporates on the spot. You turn to look at Hogwarts one last time. Night has completely fallen, and small handfuls of stars speckle the sky. The castle itself is completely lit up, light spilling from the windows and the doors. In the background, you can see the forbidden forest, and in the foreground, Hagrid's hut, which appears to be up in flames.

"We're never coming back, are we?" You ask Draco. He bows his head.

"I don't think so. Not after this. I think…we'll be lucky if we live," he says. "I'm sorry, Celia. I failed you."

"You didn't. He's dead, isn't he? The task was carried out."

A tear drips down his straight nose, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. He buries his face in your hair.

"Thank you for being here," he tells you simply. And then he lets you go. You place a hand on his shoulder, looking at his profile, silhouetted in the darkness. He places a hand on your shoulder, and then apparates. You're jerked into darkness, your hand pressed against Draco, the only solid thing in the world, the only thing keeping you grounded. And then, with a stomach turning stop, you fall to the gravel, your hands molding against the sharp texture of granite pebbles. You get to your feet and brush the blood and crumbles of rocks from your palms. Draco coughs and rolls over onto all fours. Bellatrix is waiting for you, standing against the iron gate, her long legs crossed.

"He's waiting for you."

"Who is?" You ask, knowing the answer full-well, but hoping that it's not true.

"The Dark Lord. He needs to hear everything."

Draco rises, his head hovering inches from yours. He looks ahead, his eyes blank, his mouth slack. When Bellatrix turns away, you reach up and kiss him on the cheek. You close your eyes and try to memorize his features, captured in the moment, just in case you never see him again.


	39. Chapter 39

~Year: 2009

"Come on," Bellatrix yells, and her voice echoes through the Malfoy's gardens. Ravens shriek loudly and fly off their perches, their black wings carrying them into the night. You slide closer to Draco, who reaches down for your hand and squeezes it. "Get inside," she continues, her voice even higher and more strained then before. You and Draco carefully begin the walk to the Manor, your footsteps quiet against the gravel. There's a loud crack, and Snape appears behind you. Bellatrix grimaces. "Get inside," she mutters, her teeth clenched. She yanks open the door to the manor, and then pushes you inside.

"Draco. Celia." Narcissa runs at the two of you and throws her arms around your necks, clunking your heads together.

"Mum," Draco says quietly. He lets his emotion show for the first time since leaving the school. He puts an arm around his mother's shoulder. He closes his eyes, and you see a pearly tear escape from the corner of his eye. She lets him go, and hugs you tightly.

"This is all very touching," you hear Bellatrix say, "but the Dark Lord is waiting for us."

Narcissa releases you, places her hands on your shoulders, and smoothes your hair away from your forehead.

"It's going to be alright," she promises you and Draco. "I'll make sure of it." She reaches up and pats her son's cheek. Draco closes his eyes again, and yet another tear drips down his cheek, running down his neck. Narcissa turns away and crosses the room to open the magnificent gold doors that lead to the dining room. Again, Bellatrix pushes you and Draco forward, showing you head-long into the room. Voldemort, his white face sneering, sits at the head of the table. The rest of the Death Eaters in his command lines the side of the table. These are people you've known for your whole life, friends of your parents. But they all avoid eye contact with you, which makes you increasingly more anxious as the seconds tick by. Voldemort hisses lightly, and the snake, Naigini, the disgusting beast, slithers up onto the table and coils up. She bears her fangs.

Narcissa, Snape, and Bellatrix take their places at the table as you and Draco stand at the opposite end, quiet nervous. You feel a bead of sweat make it's way down your back.

"What…" Voldemort begins to speak. "Happened tonight, this evening, at Hogwarts School of Magic?" No one answers. You can almost feel the weight of the anxiety pressing down upon the room. "Celia," he says, zeroing on you. "Would you like to tell me?"

"I…" you look from Draco to Voldemort. "I can't, my Lord."

"You cannot?" He sounds slightly amused.

"I didn't see. I can draw a conclusion from what I heard, if you would like."

"Very amusing, very witty, Miss Validus." He looks around the table and then singles out Bellatrix. "Bellatrix, then?"

"Yes, My Lord," she replies at once. "We arrived in the early evening we snuck up to the astronomy tower, where the Dark Mark was cast. We created a barrier so that no one could climb up from the school. We couldn't hear what was happening in the tower. So we began to climb up there. Celia was encouraging Draco to kill Dumbledore." You look at the ground, ashamed of yourself. "He hesitated. And then, we arrived." Bellatrix smiles widely. "Dumbledore tried to distract us. Keep us busy. Draco hesitated once more. Celia turned away, I thought she was going to be sick. And then…" he voice gets quiet. "Snape arrived. Snape killed Dumbledore."

The table directs is gaze to Voldemort. He is quiet. Naigini uncoils and begins to slide across the length of the table, hissing and snapping at hands that block her way. You feel your legs begin to quiver, and Draco has to firmly hold your arm to keep you from falling.

"They are so young. They have such potential for greatness." He stands up and quickly walks down the length of the table, until he is level with you and Draco. He surveys your face with those red, cat-like eyes. It takes all your energy not to cringe. Voldemort turns away, and then goes back to his seat. "Celia and Draco, you will remain under my biding for this summer. I cannot kill you now, though, I would like to." You breathe out. "I need you two to go to Hogwarts next year, be my confidantes." He turns his gaze onto Naigini, who slithers onto his shoulders, flicking her tounge at Bellatrix, who hisses back. "Now go. I don't want to see you two until next week."

It's better than you possibly could have believed. You and Draco quickly run from the room, up the stairs, and into his bedroom. Draco closes and locks the door behind you.

"We're going to be okay," you exclaim, throwing your arms around his neck. Draco embraces you back, curling his arms around your waist.

"I thought we were done for," he admits, kissing your cheek.

"Me too," you agree. You pull your arms away from his neck, slide them down his shoulders, so they rest on his forearms. "At least we won't be killed. We're to valuable, can you believe that?"

"I can believe I'm valuable," he teases. But his voice is somber.

"You're thinking about tonight," you say, noting his despondent expression.

"I almost killed a man, Celia. Of course I'm thinking about it."

"You almost did. But you didn't." You reach up and trace the hairline of his white blonde hair. "You couldn't. That makes you stronger than any one I know. You're a person, Draco. You value life."

He doesn't reply.

"You almost took Dumbledore up on his offer, didn't you? To protect us."

"Yes," he says. His eyes are full of pain, begging you to understand. "I need to protect those who I love. You're all I have left." He gestures around his room. "This is no longer my house, my families house. We're trapped here. We're trapped by this mark." He yanks up his sleeve to reveal his dark mark, which is blood-red. You pull up your own sleeve, and then place your arm next to his.

"At least we're trapped together," you say.

"Sleep with me," he says suddenly. "Not like that, just…with me."

"Of course," you reply. You press your lips to his, and then take his hand. The two of you sit on the opposite sides of Draco's bed, your heads bowed down. You reach up and strip off your robes, your shirt, your tie, your socks, shoes, and pants, so you're only in your bra and underwear. You slip into the bed, between the sheets. Draco still sits. Hesitantly, you place a hand on his back. At your touch, he pulls his clothes off, save for his underwear, and slips in next to you. You curl up into the fetal position, wrapping your arm around his waist.

He kisses the top of your head.

"If it helps, I only feel safe when I'm with you."

Draco smiles the slightest bit. You stretch out the slightest bit, entwining your feet with his, and then look out into the room.

You realize that this truly marks the loss of your childhood, your innocence.

The room is dark, dusty even. The desk where Draco kept all his books, ink, parchment and quills is empty, devoid of any sign he even _went _to school. Over the empty fireplace are framed pictures of you and him as a child, one of you two from this year, laughing, your arms around each other. There's even a picture of him with Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini. As you watch on, Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini disappear from the frame, leaving Draco to himself, looking sullen. In the corner is an empty space, where Draco's trunk usually sat. The shelf where his nimbus 2001 sat now has different sheets of paper from this summer, detailing his plans for this year. On the floor lie your clothes, and his.

"I feel really old," you tell him. "Look at us." You sit up, and he runs the back of his hand up and down your arm. "Look at this room. There's no trace that we went to school. We're in bed together, nearly naked. We almost committed a murder. I feel like a degenerate."

"That's the way to lighten the mood…"

"I wish my parents were here," you say, wrapping your arms around your knees. "Not here, per se. Just alive. They would know what to say and do."

Draco sits up and kisses your shoulder, nudging his head lightly against your earlobe.

"You know," he says. "We live in a world where every day, we do what people thought impossible. Practice magic. Maybe your parents are part of the magic. Maybe they're never truly gone. Look at the magical impact they had on this world."

"They didn't leave a magical impact," you point out.

"They left you," Draco replies simply. He turns your chin towards him and kisses you deeply, rolling you back into the bed, onto the soft pillows. "That's about as magical as you can get, isn't it? Dumbledore always preached that love is the strongest magic of all. And when there are people, like me, who love you dearly, your parents memory is solidified in magic."

"Thank you," you say. You roll onto him, burying your head on his chest. "You're perfect to me."


	40. Chapter 40

~Year: 2010

The day after you returned to the manor, Voldemort left. Two days after you returned, your belongings arrived on the front step, along with Draco's. On the third day, Draco went missing.

You realized it when you woke up alone that morning. Draco had snuck into your room late the night before, and you two had curled up before falling asleep.

"'Morning," you mumbled that morning, stretching your arms out wide. You knew something was wrong right away. 1. Draco would always be touching you. Whether it was his hand on your waist or his ankle brushing against yours, there was always skin contact. You didn't feel any contact. 2. He would usually reply: "I'm not a morning person, unless you want to make one out of me." But there was silence. "Draco?" You roll over and extend your arm over the bed. His side of the mattress is empty, not made.

You sit up, your hair springing up on end. Cautiously, you hop from your warm, cocoon of blankets and onto the cold and harsh floor. Quietly, you creek open the door and peer down the hallway. There's no sight of him.

"Draco?" You call quietly. Still no answer. You make your way down to his room and silently push open the door. His room is perfectly still, the bed still made from yesterday, and a shirt and pair of jeans on the floor. However, though this might indicate to some that he's simply downstairs, or maybe in the shower, you know otherwise. You stroll over to the closet and yank the doors open. His black slacks and blue button-down shirt are missing, along with a pair of rather beat-up white trainers he received on his fifteenth birthday. You shake your head as a small knot begins to form in your stomach. That was the outfit Draco always wore when he intended to blend in, when he went searching for something, most likely something dangerous.

"Celia?" Narcissa is at the door, wearing a dressing robe, her eyes bleary and her hair pulled back. Without make-up, she looks older than you had ever seen her. "What are you doing up so early? Where is Draco?"

"He's gone," you answer, pointing towards his closet.

"What clothes?" She asks automatically, standing taller.

"His blue button-down," you tell her.

She raises her light eyebrows, but her ice-blue eyes fill with worry.

"He didn't say anything?" "No," you reply. You turn away from her and run down to your room. You close the door behind you and lock it.

"Celia?" Narcissa calls, knocking loudly. "I'm sure he's just downstairs. There's no need to worry."

But you know there's every reason to worry. You throw your nightgown into the corner, slip on a pair of jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt, and trainers. You pull up your hair and then fling open the door to see Narcissa, her hand raised, as if knocking.

"You can't go find him, Celia," she says, her eyes wide. "The Dark Lord…I'll go find him myself."

"Please," you say, grasping at her hand. "I need to do this myself. I know him better than any one. I know I can find him."

Narcissa closes her eyes. "But the Dark Lord. What if he punishes the two of you? What if he finds out you left the house?"

"He won't," you reply. You grab your wand from the nightstand and tuck it into the leather purse hanging on the back of your bedroom door. You sprint past her, nearly knocking her over in your haste to leave the house. You pause when you walk out of the doors. How did you plan on getting to diagon alley? You remember what you learned from the few apparation classes you attended. You close your eyes and screw up your palms, keeping in mind the layout of the Leaky Cauldron. You feel your body begin to spin out of control, you can't breathe, and then you feel your feet hit the ground.

You're standing in the leaky cauldron next to the bar. Tom looks alarmed at your appearance, and the few people in the room turn to stare at you.

"Malfoy," you say automatically, reaching across the bar, splaying your hands out.

"What about him?" Tom asks, the gaps in his teeth more noticeable than usual.

"You seen him?"

"What if I had?" He leers at you, and then cracks his knuckles. You bite your bottom lip in anger, and then hold out your left arm. You yank up the sleeve and turn your arm over, so the dark mark shows.

"Feel like talking now?" You ask, snarling through your teeth. Tom recoils at the sign of the mark on your arm, and the others in the pub stumble as they stand to recede into darker corners of the room.

"Went into the alley an hour ago, d-didn't he?" Tom chokes in fear. "Ask any one. They saw 'im go."

You pull your sleeve down, re-shoulder your bag, and head into the alley. When the bricks clear to let you through, the first thing you see is a bloody-faced man, stumbling towards you. You dodge his bandaged, out stretched hands and run into the nearest shop.

"Has a boy been in here?" You ask the shopkeeper anxiously. "A tall, blonde-haired boy? Have you seen him in the alley? He's missing."

"A lot of people are goin' missin' these days." The shopkeeper stacks a pile of books on the counter and straightens them out. He sighs and places his elbows on the counter-top and laces his finger together. "Saw a boy earlier. Seemed in a hurry. Headed towards Knockturn Alley."

You smile widely. "Oh thank you. Thank you."

"Hope you find him," the man calls out as you close the door behind you.

Knockturn alley, if possible, seems brighter than usual. The ascent of Voldemort seems to have brought out all the freaks of the wizarding world out of hiding. They gather together in small groups, snickering and whispering as you pass, some calling out obscenities. You are somewhat terrified by the people, and so you retreat to the only place you know to be safe.

"Miss Validus," Borgin says when you enter the shop, bowing low. "Such a surprise to see you today."

"I'm so sorry to barge in, but have you seen Malfoy today?"

"The younger?"

"The younger."

"Er…why, yes, I did. He came in here earlier. Saw a woman he knew."

"A woman?" You ask, perplexed. "What did she look like?"

"Old," Borgin replies, smacking his lips, trying to remember. "Tall. Wavy, long blonde hair. Wrinkles around her eyes. Scar down the side of her neck."

"You remember a lot," you muse, looking out the window.

"She looked a lot like you, Miss Validus," Borgin says, and then frowns. "Pardon me. I didn't mean to be intrusive."

"It's fine," you say distractedly, heading out the door. You look around the square. There's no sight of Draco, just a few shady characters in the corner. You feel like slumping down to the ground and crying. Where could he be? But, you reassure yourself, at least he was alive, he had been seen.

And that's when you see her. The woman Borgin described. She's not alone. On one side is a tall man with a wide-brimmed hat pulled down over his head. On his other side is Draco, recognizable by his white-blonde hair and his blue shirt. You trip over a café chair in your haste to reach them, but kick it aside. There's no time to waste.

"Draco!" you call, running towards them. He turns to look at you, his expression anxious. You run into his arms, wrapping yourself tightly around him, like a leech attaches to flesh. "I was so worried…"

"There's nothing to worry about…" Draco calms, smoothing your hair. He leans back, holding your shoulders. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to find you." You glance over your shoulder at the man and the woman, who smile faintly as you draw into Draco's arms. Surprisingly, the woman strongly resembles you. It's like looking at an aged portrait of yourself. The man resembles Draco, with fading blonde hair and a pointed chin. "Who are you?" You ask, without any introduction.

"Celia," Draco begins, but the woman holds up her hand to stop him from speaking. The man places an arm around her shoulders. At the same time, you feel a sharp prick in your neck. The woman smiles slightly and pulls down her collar, to reveal her own scar. It's bright red.

"I'm you." The woman releases her collar. "I'm you, fifty years from now."


	41. Chapter 41

~Year: 2010

"What, is this some kind of joke?" You look from the woman to Draco, but neither of them show any indication that it is. Draco tightens his arm around your shoulders.

"It's not a joke," he says gently.

"It's impossible," you sputter, looking intently at the couple before you. The man raises an arm and places it around the woman's shoulders, mirroring Draco's movement. "There's no way."

"As a matter of fact, it is." The older you smiles and pulls a chain from around her neck. There's a small charm, that of an hourglass, which slides precariously back and forth on the thin gold links. "We had to tell you something before the time came.

You look at Draco's profile. He kisses you on the corner of the mouth. "Don't worry, please."

"One of you is going to die," the older Draco says. You feel your jaw drop, and your eyes fill with tears. You clutch onto Draco's arm so tightly you dig your fingernails into his arm.

"Don't scare the girl like that," the older you scolds, hitting Draco on the arm. She groans and presses a hand to her chest. "My heart went crazy. She's scared out of her wits." The older Draco grins apologetically, while the younger wraps his arms around your shoulders and holds you tighter against him.

"This is weird," you manage to choke out. You tuck your hands around Draco's arm, which crosses your chest.

"I'm sorry," the older Draco apologizes, smiling sheepishly. His smile is exactly the same.

"Can you explain to her the 'dying thing', please?" Draco asks anxiously, glancing at your profile.

"We don't have much time," the older you says, glancing at the clock in the square. Nervously, she smoothes her blonde hair back, and small, moonstone earrings are visibly set in her ears. "This year, sooner than you think, an attempt will be made on your lives."

You let out a small squeak of terror.

"The killing curse will, in fact, connect with your bodies. And for a moment, you will feel as if you are dead. But then you will awake."

"Why?" You demand.

"Draco and you are linked at the soul," the older you says gently. "When he saved you from drowning as a young girl, you were technically dead. But he loved you so much, so infinitely much, that when he touched you, he gave some of his life to you." She pulls back her collar to reveal the scar, and you raise your hand to your own. She smiles. "It's the mark of his love. You will have that scar forever."

"So…" Draco says, hesitantly reaching out to your neck and skimming his fingers lightly against the red line. "We can't die because our souls are combined?"

"No," the older Draco corrects. "You will die together, sometime, someday. But this first attempt will not work because the souls have connected. The bonds are too strong for just one killing curse to break."

You study the pair of them, the pair of you. They don't touch, and the woman's eyes are sad. The older Draco looks thin and strained.

"Are we going to be as miserable as you are?" You ask the woman, who starts at your question.

"What?" Draco the younger asks, turning to stare at you.

"No," the older replies, watching you intently. "We…we are not together any more. But with our help, you two may be."

"How?" You demand, gripping Draco's arm tightly.

"No one came to warn us about this," the older you says. "I thought Draco was dead, and he thought I was. We were separated at the time, and I left the Malfoy family. I moved to the South of France with your distant aunt." She nods to the sky. "Bless her soul. But I moved back to London a few years ago. Saw Draco at the Ministry. And we put the pieces together. We stole a time turner from the Ministry and came back to find you."

"So that you may have the happiness we never did." Draco smiles sadly, and in a sudden flash of sunlight, you can see the gleam of a wedding band on his finger.

"Right." You nod, and then turn your head away. It's too much to bear, seeing this. Seeing you, seeing Draco, older and unhappy, not even together. Almost as if on cue, they begin to shimmer, the pair of them, the pair of you. You gasp and reach out, and Draco hastens to touch your shoulder, pull you back, but you move out from under his grasp. You reach out and so does the older you. For a moment, just a passing second, the two of you touch fingertips. And then the older Draco has touched the crook of her elbow, and they are gone.

For some stupid, inexplicable reason, you feel your eyes well up. You turn away from where the older you stood and look to Draco, young, handsome, anxious, and very much in the present.

"Come on." He quietly takes your hand and apparates on the spot, ending up in the Malfoy's garden, next to the stone bench where you shared your first real kiss.

"That will never happen to us," you say aloud as two of you land in the gravel. You throw your arms around his neck and bury your face into the nape of his neck, pushing aside the crisp linen collar of his shirt. "We know everything now."

"You're shaking," Draco comments, kissing the corner of your mouth.

"Just scared the shit out of me," you reply, refusing to look him in the eyes. "Did it scare you at all?"

"You kidding?" Draco lets out a soft laugh, somewhat scoffing. "Course. There I am, walking around, when she…you…walks up to me. Starts talking. And then I…that's so weird to say, but I was there. And they started talking to me, telling me things I couldn't even begin to imagine."

"You were married," you say, noting the thing that bothered you most.

"Jealous?" Draco asks in a teasing tone, but you can tell he was bothered by it too.

"Yeah." You look up at him and prop your elbow on his shoulder, so you can move your hand across his hairline, slicking back small fly-aways. "You know when you asked me to marry you?"

"And then you dated Potter?" You wince. "Yeah, I do."

"I want to. If you'd want me to, that is. I don't know if I would be a good wife. What does a wife do? Would I have to cook? Because I really-" Draco, thank god, shuts off your incessant babbling by pressing his lips against yours. You melt against him.

"Yes," he says simply. "You're the only one I would ever want to marry." He pauses to kiss you. "Every one else…well, I can't stand them."

"There's the charming boy I know," you whisper, smiling. The two of you stand like that, his arms around you, and yours around him, when you feel something.

It's lighter than air, it brushes by you without much of a slight sound. It whistles slightly, and there's a flash of green in the corner of your eye. You pull back from Draco, alarmed, and look around to see what has happened. The gardens are quiet, exceedingly serene. A bird hoots feebly from it's perch on a nearby hedge, and then shoots off into the sunlight, it's wings batting furiously.

"What was that?" You ask Draco, still scanning the garden with your eyes. When he doesn't answer, you turn back to him. And then you scream. His eyes bulge slightly from his head as he begins to fall, rocking back and forth on his feet.

"Help!" You scream, as he begins to fall. You grab his hands, but his weight is too much for you to handle alone. His body seems to break as he sways down to the ground, and you fall with him, kneeling by his side as Draco comes to a rest in the gravel. Your hands scrabble uselessly at his face, trying to get him to look at you, and one of his hands suddenly seizes yours.

"It's what they told us would happen." He closes his eyes and then opens them. The blue of his irises is glazed over slightly. "Remember today. Please." And you can't answer, because he tries to say something more, but his voice gives out. He rolls onto his side and doesn't move any more.


	42. Chapter 42

~Year: 2010

As Draco's grip on your hand slackened considerably, you willed yourself not to lose your head. You knew, full well, that he would live. At least, you hoped he would. You had just been promised he would.

But you also know that if someone was counting on Draco being dead, then for Draco's safety, you would have to act as if he had just died.

"Help!" You scream louder. "Please." Your voice mounts to a nearly hysterical pitch. It's easy to act as if he's just died, because, essentially, the lifeless shell of your love is lying next to you, looking so terribly cold…

"Celia?" Narcissa's voice is suddenly audible and you hear footsteps running towards you, crunching loudly on the gravel. "What's wrong? Where are you?"

"Here, please," you beg her. When she rounds the corner, her tall frame arching over the hedge, you realize you couldn't possibly lie to her, tell her that Draco's dead. This woman took you in when your own parents died, treated you like her own daughter. Her eyes widen when she sees Draco's form crumpled on the ground and her mouth gapes.

"What…what?"

You rush to her side and grab onto her elbow. Hurridly, you whisper into her ear before she can start to believe what she's seeing, before the tears can form…

"He's not dead. But trust me, please, someone tried to kill him. Who's in the house?"

She looks visibly startled, but swallows and nods slightly, her eyes still trained on her son.

"The Dark Lord is inside."

You tighten your grip slightly on her elbow and grind your foot angrily into the gravel. "The coward," you hiss.

"Celia, what is going on?" She kneels down next to her son and presses a hand to his neck, searching for a pulse, and then lays a hand on his chest. "He has no pulse, no heart beat." Her voice is accusatory. You kneel down next to her and place your hand to Draco's cold, unmoving brow.

"He can't die while I'm still alive. I know it sounds crazy, believe me, I know. But we had…people tell us. People we trust. You have to trust us too."

Narcissa studies your features. "You're quite serious, aren't you?"

"If he really was dead, do you think I would be talking like this?"

Narcissa places a hand on your shoulder. "So what do we do?"

You smooth back Draco's sleek hair. "We pretend he's dead. Stage a private funeral, for the family. And then…when he awakes…" your heart drops when you realize what must happen next. "He has to go into hiding. As long as the Dark Lord is still alive, he must be unseen."

Narcissa cocks her head. "You have a cottage. We owned it with your parents. It was supposed to be yours on your seventeenth birthday. But if you don't mind…"

"Of course not," you say, not looking up from Draco. You can't wait for him to awake, to be able to see some slight color in the porcelin skin, see the smirk always stamped across his lips.

Despite your immense fear, you also feel incomparably angry. Why would the Dark Lord want to kill Draco? What possible reason could he have to kill the boy who had followed all his orders faithfully? You screw up your fists in rage, and your fingernails dig into the skin, leaving angry, puckered, half-moon shaped cresents in your palm.

"Celia?" Narcissa says your name rather forcefully and you realize she's been calling your name for a few moments. "He…the Dark Lord is watching us." She says this so quietly you wonder if she believes he can hear her.

"Cry," you tell her quietly. "He needs to believe his plan has worked." Narcissa looks slightly stunned, but then clears her throat, leans her head down to her son's chest and begins to sob. Her bony shoulders shake with the effort. You push your hair back behind your shoulders and rub your eyes, as if you've just been crying yourself. Cautiously, you incline your head ever-so-slightly and roll your eyes to the side. In the upstairs window, you can see a faint figure, tall, milk-white standing still. The head is bent, as if to view the scene below. Voldemort's features aren't visible, but you get the nasty feeling that he's enjoying the view.

"I…I think we need to move…" you begin to say, trailing off. You clear your throat. "We need to move him." You found yourself about to say _the body._

"I'll go get Lucius," Narcissa says, raising up, wiping her face on her sleeve.

"No," you protest, grabbing her sleeve. "As much as you might want to tell him, you can't. Not now, at least. You must wait until the Dark Lord is gone. Lucius is much too hot-headed. He might do something dangerous."

Narcissa bites her lip. She hesitates, and then removes her wand from her sleeve. "Locomotor Mortis," she recites, directing her wand at Draco's body. Eerily, he floats into the air out in front of you, paving the way towards the manor. You follow him, watching to see if he would give any signs of life. Perhaps a twitch of an eyelid, or maybe a slight cough. But your hope is short-lived, because as the door to the manor opens, Lucius is just walking down the staircase.

"Narcsiaa?" He asks, looking at Draco, alarmed. "What's going on?"

Narcissa, however, does not get to answer.

"He's dead." Behind him, on the staircase, Voldemort is standing at the top of the stairs. Bellatrix stands faithfully by his side, and you can see Avery on his other.

"My son…." Lucius looks at Draco and then back to the Dark Lord, his lips trembling. "My only son."

"He disobeyed my orders," Voldemort says with an awful aura of coldness. He sneers in the slightest and his thin lips pull back to reveal a set of yellowed teeth. "The boy intentionally left the house once he thought I had gone."

You look down at the ground, panic rising in your throat. Were you about to be punished?

As if reading your mind, Voldemort's gaze zeroes in on you.

"Celia went to bring him back, didn't you?"

"Y-yes," you stammer.

"Good girl," Bellatrix tells you approvingly.

"Celia is far more responsible and respectful than your son, Lucius. Not once, but twice, he failed to follow my bidding. And for that, he paid the price." Voldemort punctuated this sentence by continuing down the stairs and coming shoulder to shoulder with you. You willed yourself not to shudder.

Lucius made to say something, begin to mouth words, but no sound really came out; just a faint squeak from the veins straining in his throat.

"Bury the dead," Voldemort commanded of Lucius, his high, cruel voice tainted with mirth. "I don't want to see the body when I get back. I'll be home in a hour." And with a nod of his head, he swept from the room, Bellatrix and Avery close behind.

"Bella," Narcissa said softly, looking after her sister. From her profile, it was obvious she was searching for something in her sister's expression. Comfort, perhaps. Or a sign of humanity from the coldest person you had ever met. Bellatrix turned slowly as she began to exit the door.

"You should be proud of Celia." That was all she said. And then she turned around to join her master. Without another look back, they apparated.

At once, Narcissa grabbed her husband's hands in hers.

"He's not dead, Lucius." She tenderly held a palm up to her husband's face. Lucius, tears rolling down his waxen and pale face, suddenly looked angrily at his wife. "I know it sounds crazy. Really." Narcissa hesitantly hugged her husband, hooking her arms around her neck. At that moment, Draco's body, still suspended in the air, began to float gracefully to the floor. Slowly, he began to stir fretfully.

"Draco," you breathe, kneeling down by his side.

"Already?" He grumbles, patting you on the arm. "That was like a nap." Groggily, he rolls his head back and forth and stretches. He looks up and says in an incredulous voice: "Dad? Are you _crying?"_

"No." Lucius turns away, sniffs, and exits the room, wiping his eyes on his sleeves.

"Draco," Narcissa grabs his sleeve. "I want you to go to the cottage. Remember, the small one we bought years and years ago?"

"Off the coast of Spain?" Draco furrows his eyebrows. "But…Spain?" He looks at you and his eyes become sad. "Yeah…alright."

"We'll take care of things here," Narcissa fusses. She straightens his collar and pats his head. "Go pack something. Your father and I…we'll be able to visit this week and the rest of this summer. But Celia…this may be the last time you see each other for a very long time. It's time you say good-bye. For now."


	43. Chapter 43

~Year: 2010

Draco was quiet as he began to pack. Every few seconds, he would shake his head, and remove a few items of clothing from his trunk, as if he was going to refuse to leave. You would gently but firmly press them back in the trunk. He would sigh, nod, and then glance at you, his eyes filled with the most depressing, morose emotion you had ever seen.

"We've been apart before," you remind him gently. "Not quite like this. But we've been not together, if that makes sense. We'll get through this." You lower your voice to a whisper. "The Dark Lord will not live forever. He will die, just as we all do."

"But how long will that take?" Draco's voice is clipped as he throws a jacket into the trunk. He snaps the top loudly and flicks down the snaps. He crosses the space between the two of you. "How long will it be before I see you? You're not just my love, Celia. You're my best friend. I fear I may go mad."

"I may be able to sneak away," you re-assure him. You slip your arms around his waist and close your eyes, pressing your cheek against his. "And we can write."

"The Dark Lord will be watching," he replies in a monotone. You pull away and Draco lifts a hand to your face. He cradles your jaw for a moment before twisting his fingers in your hair. "It's not prudent. But as you said…we will get through this. As long as it takes."

You don't know what to say at this point. Should you attempt to console him further? It's hard to do so when you feel as if your own world is going up in flames.

"Come on," you say finally, taking his hand in yours. You grip his hand tightly, as if he might leave you. "We have to get out of here. Nearly a half hour has passed."

Draco lugs the trunk down from the foot of his bed and you follow him dutifully from his room. He turns to close the door, and he lingers for a moment. Before you can stop him, he crosses the threshold and grabs a picture frame from his desk. The picture of the two of you as kids. The children in the photo smile up at the two of you, unassuming.

"Things were so much easier then," you note, your voice shaking from the effort of holding back tears. Draco plants a light kiss on your cheek, and you nuzzle your head into his collarbone. He pockets the frame in his jacket pocket, and then the two of you descend the stairs into the dining room. Narcissa and Lucius are waiting for the two of you.

"Good," Lucius says briskly when he sees his son. His voice is strong, but his blood-shot eyes and shaking hands say otherwise. "Draco, we need to…well, we need you to perform some transfiguration for us. You need to make a copy of your body…in case…well, in case the Dark Lord asks to see it."

"Why me?" Draco asks.

"I…" Lucius looks down at his feet. "I don't have my wand."

"Right," Draco says, looking ashamed of himself for asking. You squeeze his arm. Lucius looks up from the ground and nods to his son. Draco breathes deeply.

"Corpus archetypus," he recites, pointing his wand at an apple, which lies abandoned on the table. Immediately, the green peel of the apple falls away and the fruit inside begins to quake. The apple suddenly begins to bubble, and then it turns to liquid, the juice spilling over the table. The liquid suddenly reforms, and then solidifies. A perfect copy of Draco, right down to the white-blonde hair lies on the table, wearing the same clothes he does now.

"Well done, Draco," Narcissa commends quietly, brushing her hand across the copy's face. She gently closes the eyelids of the doppelganger and you turn away from the sight of it.

"I'm going to stay here," Lucius tells Draco. "Bury this." He gestures to the copy. "I'll be by later this week, if I can. The Dark Lord believes I have to go to Romania on business with the ministry."

"Come on, then," Narcissa says, glancing nervously at her watch.

"'Bye, Dad," Draco says, dawdling slightly as he pulls on his trunk, dragging it towards the door.

"Son?" Lucius pauses as he begins to pick up the limp copy of Draco. "I…I'm very proud of you, you know that?"

"Yeah," Draco says, smiling, but just the smallest bit. "Thanks Dad."

At this point, you reach out and take a hold of his arm. Narcissa grabs his wrist on the other side, and then she apparates, pulling you into the customary darkness. Moments later, the three of you land on a private beach, your feet sinking into the soft sand. You breathe in the scent of the ocean air, and then you open your eyes. The house your parents bought is exactly as you remember it. Golden stucco on the outside, with Spanish tile for the roof. Boxes of flowers bloom under the sills of rounded windows, and there's a wicker rocking chair on the paved porch.

"Let's get this inside." Narcissa glances around, and then ushers the two of you forward into the house. As soon as you set foot inside, there's a snap, and a house-elf from the manor appears. It bows low to the three of you.

"Let me get that, Mr. Malfoy." It squeaks. The elf takes Draco's trunk and begins to head up the stairs, towards the bedrooms.

"The house elf will be here to assist you." Narcissa tucks her hair over one shoulder. "The Dark Lord doesn't notice the elves, thank god. He won't be able to tell that one is missing." Her lips tremble for a moment. "Do you have everything, Draco?"

"Yes, Mum," he says quietly. "It'll be okay, Mum. Really. You did say you would visit. You can check up on me. Make sure I'm eating properly and all that."

She chokes out a soft laugh. "That's my boy." She weepily folds her son into her arms, and then, taking the handkerchief he offers her, blows into it, letting out a sound like a trombone.

"Oh, excuse me," she says, looking appalled with herself. "I'll leave you two to say good bye. But Celia, we only have a few minutes. We need to be back before the Dark Lord. Time is of the essence." And then, with a wistful look at her son, Narcissa embraced Draco once more, and then politely exited the house to wait outside.

Draco looks at you, not saying a word, just staring into your features, so intently it seems as if he's trying to memorize them.

"It's sunny outside. Maybe you'll finally get a tan," you tease him, attempting to lighten the mood. When he doesn't smile, you feel the tears well up.

"Oh please don't cry," he immediately begs. "I'll laugh at your terrible joke, if that's what you want."

You hit him lightly on the shoulder, and then slip your arms around his neck. He pulls you tightly against him, so that your toes touch.

"I'm going to miss you so much," you whisper in his ear, tracing his collar with your index finger.

"I love you," he answers.

"I love you more than you will ever know." You pull back and he kisses you, pressing a hand against the back of your neck. You begin to cry as the two of you embrace, tears running down your cheeks, moving into your locked lips.

"Celia!" Narcissa calls from outside. "I'm sorry, but we really do have to go now!"

When Draco releases you, you realize that the kiss you just shared was possibly the sweetest, deepest kiss you and he have ever shared. The sun breaks through the windows, illuminating his features.

"That's your cue to run offstage now," he says quietly, pressing his thumb to your lower lip.

You can't bring yourself to answer, but instead, nod, your eyes closed. Draco releases your hand and you turn to leave, heading out into the sunshine, which clashes horribly with your mood.

"Draco," you say suddenly, turning around at the door. He tucks his hands in his pockets and raises an eyebrow. "I will find my way back to you. No matter what I have to do."

And then, before he can say a word, you dash outside onto the beach. Narcissa wordlessly extends a hand to you and you slip your hand into hers. Before she apparates, the two of you look back towards the house. Draco is standing in the doorway, his blonde hair gleaming, his eye glittering. He raises his hand in goodbye, and then Narcissa apparates, leaving him behind, all alone, to forge a new life, one out from under the thumb of the Dark Lord.

When you arrive back at the manor, Lucius has just finished burying the fake corpse in the gardens.

"I was just about to carve a tombstone of sorts," he says quietly, holding up a rock. "When I realized I don't have a wand." He looks to you. "Celia? Would you care to do the honors?"

"What will I say?" You take the rock from him and pull out your wand, tapping it against the smooth surface of the stone.

"What comes from your heart." This time, Narcissa answers, not Lucius.

At once, you know what you want to say. You recall an old muggle play you read once before you began to attend Hogwarts. The tragic love story of Shakespeare's star-crossed lovers. Draco had teased you mercilessly for reading "that dirty mudblood book" but you had read it anyways, and then socked him in the ear for teasing you about it. You raise your wand and the words begin to carve themselves into the stone.

_Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both receive in either by this dear encounter._

You place the stone on the freshly turned ground and then wipe your eyes. The quote you chose reflected all you could possibly say about your and Draco's relationship. The encounter, the chance, even the fate, whatever it was, that brought you together, gave you more happiness, more stability, more love than you ever thought could have existed.

As soon as you place the stone down on the "grave" there's a loud pop in the driveway. Voldemort and Bellatrix have returned, both looking rather sour.

"Inside," Voldemort commands of you, Narcissa and Lucius. The three of you walk ahead of Voldemort and Bellatrix, pushing open the manor doors. Already, the manor has an empty, almost terrifying feeling to it, now that Draco is gone. "We're having a meeting," Voldemort commands, sitting down at the head of the dining room table. In a swift movement, he pulls Lucius's wand from his pocket and beckons Bellatrix forward. She eagerly sticks out her left arm, her pointed teeth bared over her thin lower lip. Voldemort places the wand to the dark mark, and at once, you feel the mark on your arm burn. Pops begin to sound outside the house as the other death eaters arrive, either from work, home, or missions Voldemort appointed to them. You make to move up the stairs as the doors open, but Voldemort suddenly says:

"No. Celia, you will stay." He pats the spot on his right side. Bellatrix raises her eyebrows, but says nothing as she takes the spot on his left side. Lucius and Narcissa take seats further down the table as you hesitantly lower yourself into the seat next to Voldemort. The manor is silent as the other death eaters begin to fill the table. Only when the last of them, (Rookwood) arrives, does Voldemort begin to speak.

"Draco Malfoy was killed today," Voldemort begins. "The stupid, disrespectful boy disobeyed my specific orders. He ran away for a few hours, when he thought I wouldn't be here to catch him." You lower your head. "I killed him upon his return. You see, I don't like when people cross me. I am the most powerful wizard this world has ever seen. I require the respect I have come to deserve." The table is quiet, except for Narcissa, who lets out a small squeak. Voldemort chooses to ignore this.

"It was a mistake of Albus Dumbledore not to use his respect, value it, like I do. You see, the old fool made a lot of mistakes. Like when he preached that love is so strong. Because, as I sit here, I see three people in this room that loved the Malfoy boy dearly. And even though they did, the boy is dead. Love cannot outweigh death. It never will."

The table remains stony, but you can feel your knees shaking in fear and anger.

"This brings me to my next point." Voldemort leans back in his chair. "It is almost time, my dear friends. Harry Potter is about to come of age. The charm of his mother's love will break, the _dear, dear," _Voldemort smirked at this, "family bonds that kept him safe for the past sixteen years will evaporate. As you can see, love will not overcome death. In a few weeks, we will travel to privet drive in Little Winging, and we will kill the boy."

Startled, you contain your fear by clenching your hands under the table.

"It pleases me to say that Miss Validus will be joining us on this adventure." You clunk your knees against the bottom of the table and your palms immediately begin to sweat. Panicked, you widen your eyes at Narcissa, who looks down, her lips pursed. Lucius shrugs slightly, as if to say: _There's nothing I can do. _The table laughs softly at your expression, taking it for surprise and pride, rather than surprise and terror. "I think," Voldemort says softly. "That we test her habits, hmm?" He nods to Bellatrix, who jumps from her chair. She raises a hand in the air and sweeps it sideways. At once, the door to the study, where Voldemort had been staying for the past few days, opens wide. A bound and gagged body floats limply through the air towards you. A woman, tears leaking from her eyes, screams into the gag, her feet flailing as the ropes cut into her ankles.

"This, my dear friends, is Charity Burbage. A teacher at Hogwarts School. Not long ago, Miss Burbage was teaching children, impressionable students, about muggle borns. How really lovely they are, how clever they are. How they aren't so different from us." At this, Rowle hisses loudly, and Macnair spits at the woman. The glob of saliva lodges itself into her hair and the table snickers collectively. Voldemort smiles indulgently. He raises his wand, and the gag slips from the woman's mouth. You lower your eyes, afraid to look at her.

"Severus, help me," the woman begs, looking at Snape. Snape looks straight ahead, his black eyes indifferent.

"This is your time, Celia." Voldemort urges you, nodding. "Show us your talent, what you're capable of. Dispose of her."

You remove your wand from your robes with a shaking hand, but the sweat causes the wood to slip.

"I…I can't," you say, standing from your chair.

"You can't?"

"I can't."

"Do it," Voldemort hisses. "Draco would be ever so disappointed in you." This, if anything, does not compel you to kill the poor woman. Voldemort seems to sense that, and leans forward in his chair, his face contorted into what appears to be a leering pout, like that of a five-year old who's just thrown a tantrum. "Your parents would have done it."

At this, you lean over and throw up onto the carpet. The table begins to mutter loudly. Bellatrix snorts.

"Get out of here," Voldemort says, his voice dangerously quiet. "I don't want to kill another teenager today, it really just makes me feel so…_evil. _Be ready to leave for privet drive by Friday, Miss Validus. If you are not ready, if you cannot cope with the stress load this mission presents, it will be you up there." He nods to the revolving body of Charity Burbage, who lets out a wail, and then struggles against the bonds holding her arms and legs together.

"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort says suddenly. There's a loud clunk, and Charity Burbage's body hits the table, her skin turning deathly white. "Dinner, Naigini," Voldemort hisses. The great snake appears from nowhere, slithering up onto the table, it's jaws snapping hungrily at the corpse. The death eaters begin to laugh, some of them maniacally, as others cheer on the snake most barbarically. Taking advantage of the chaos, you run from the room, sprinting up the staircase. On the top stair, you collapse, crying and shaking and sweating from fear. It seemed as if your life was taking a turn for the absolute, finite chapter. There was no doubt in your mind that by the end of this week, you would be Naigini's dinner.

As you hear the loud cries of encouragement from below, you curl up into the fetal position, gasping, trying desperately to collect your thoughts and keep your head before it ended up clenched between Naigini's fangs.


	44. Chapter 44

~Year: 2010

By the end of the week, preparations to kill Potter were in full swing. The manor was almost constantly filled with Death Eaters, who were always in the dining room or the parlor, where Voldemort resided.

You usually tried to stay out of the way, sitting in your room, curled up in your desk chair or on your bed. Sometimes, late at night, you would creep down the hall and sneak into Draco's room. You would never disrupt the peace of the room, preferring to keep it exactly as it had been before he left. But sometimes, you would pull aside the drapes, push open the windows and shimmy onto the sill. You would curl your legs up to your chest and watch the muggle cars in the area drive by, casting light onto the tall grasses that surrounded the house. You would wonder about Draco, how he was doing, and hoped that he was all right. As you would look up at the faint speckling of stars overhead, you wondered if he was watching them too.

One night, this tradition changed your life. You had awoken from a dead sleep to the sound of a cricket outside. Blearily, you wiped your eyes and gotten out of bed, slipping your feet into a pair of thick slippers which sat outside of your closet. You had grabbed the cashmere robe that hung over the desk chair, knotted the tie firmly, and then began down the hall towards Draco's room. Quietly, you pushed open the door to his room, and then froze. Someone was standing in the darkness, next to his bed.

"Oh, Celia," they said, and immediately, you relaxed. Lucius stepped out of the darkness, his long hair slightly array and his eyes tired. In one hand, he held the hand of glory he had given to Draco when you were in your second year.

"I'm sorry to intrude," you apologize, standing awkwardly in the doorway. "I can leave if you would like. I just come in here sometimes when I can't sleep. It helps."

"No, please," Lucius says, standing aside. He walks over to a shelf and places the hand of glory back where it was. You cross the room and head over to the window, shove it open, and look out over the grounds. Outside, you can see the faint shadows of the last few death eaters leaving the mansion, exhausted from today's planning. "Are you nervous?"

Lucius asks you this quietly, and for a moment, you have to turn and stare at him to make sure he actually said it. You're not sure really what to say, because as long as you've known Lucius, you've never actually spent that much time alone with him, you've never seen him this broken.

"For tomorrow night?" He nods. "It's always a bit daunting to think that you're going to commit the murder of a classmate."

Lucius chuckles lightly at your tone, and then immediately sobers.

"I forgot Potter was actually a classmate of yours," he says, looking at the floor. "When he's the target of the most dangerous wizard of the world…it's hard to remember he's just the same age of you and Draco." Lucius falls quiet for a moment before saying: "He's just a boy."

"He's not just a boy," you correct. "He's an extremely talented wizard. Which is why his death would mean so much."

"But why Potter?" Lucius asks. "Maybe it took the loss of my own son to realize this, shape this opinion. But maybe there shouldn't be any more deaths. Maybe Potter shouldn't be hunted down. Maybe I don't want to help anymore." He pauses. "Was Potter really bad? I know Draco always complained about him…and I…well, I can't say I ever got to know him." He stares anxiously at you.

You remember everything Harry did to you, what he did to Draco. And then you remember the crumpled form of the boy as Bellatrix tortured him, the way his screams punctuated the otherwise quiet night. You remember how Harry had tried to fight the death of Dumbledore…

"No," you reply. "He was never truly awful. Sometimes I thought he was. Or I felt that he was. But he was never completely terrible."

Lucius nods. You clear your throat and change the subject.

"Do you know when you're going to be able to see him?"

"We…Narcissa and I might be headed there next week. The Dark Lord believes that he will be free to come out into the open after he finishes Potter. We will have more freedom."

You sigh. Lucius steps forward and awkwardly places a hand on your back, trying to console you.

"You know…" he says quietly. "You could see him too."

"I…I don't think I'll be alive by next week," you admit. "I think the Dark Lord means to kill me after this week."

"Maybe," Lucius says thoughtfully, and you can tell he agrees with you. "Maybe he won't be able to find you."

"What does that mean?" You ask, suddenly growing crafty.

"Well," Lucius begins, biting his lip slightly. "I've thought about this. Tomorrow evening is going to be chaotic at the least. It would be very easy for you to drop off somewhere and no one would notice. They would assume that you fell to your death and that would be that. You see, the Dark Lord has no interest in what's going on in Spain at the moment. He needs to focus on gaining control here in England."

"You think I could apparate and no one would notice?"

"No," Lucius replies. "You wouldn't be able to apparate. The Ministry can track people that way. You would have to fly by broom or find other means of transportation. A boat or car and such."

"They would find me," you say, however, you're enthralled by the plan and want to try it out immediately. "I would have to disguise myself."

"You got top marks on your OWLs, Celia. Narcissa bragged about you and Draco for weeks. You're capable of doing it."

You sit quietly for a moment before saying: "Okay. How do I go about this?" Lucius sits down heavily at Draco's desk and the two of you begin to plan.

The next evening, you, Lucius and Voldemort assemble outside of the Manor, broomsticks in hand. You wear thick, dark robes, and skull mask, which conceals your features. In your pocket is your wand, in the other lies a compass. In one sock, you have stored approximately 5 galleons. In the other, you have more than 200 pounds of muggle money, all in bills.

"Celia," Voldemort says, beckoning you forward. You dutifully present your left arm, and he plunges the tip of his wand into the skin, causing the tattoo to writhe and burn. At once, you grip your broom (Draco's old Nimbus) tighter in hand. The three of you apparate on the spot, small pops echoing out through privet drive. As soon as your feet touch ground, more death eaters begin to appear, pouring in by the dozen, their faces concealed by masks and brooms in hand.

Quietly, Voldemort waves his hand, casting the group into the shadows, to avoid the eyes of prying muggles. He directs his head to look down the lane. He sniffs loudly and closes his eyes, and then hisses.

"They are here. The order." The Death Eaters hiss collectively. "On your brooms. We will attack the house from the back. Make sure to rise well above the ground. They cannot spot us."

"Yes, My Lord," everyone vows. You straddle your broom and look sideways at Lucius. He nods the slightest bit, and you feel reassured. You kick off the ground, rising above the concrete like a cork shot from a bottle of champagne. The group takes its place in the clouds above Number 4, Voldemort at the head. Voldemort, devoid of a broom, bobs lightly in the air, staring down at the ground. Suddenly, he lets out an exclamation and Bellatrix curses loudly. You squint down at the lawn. There are seven dark haired figures, all slight, all resembling Harry, climbing onto different modes of transportation. They climb onto brooms, dark, bare horses you've never seen before, and onto a large motorcycle.

"Find the real Potter," Voldemort calls to the group. "But do not kill him. That is my responsibility. Be prepared to kill the protectors. He will be the most qualified. Be prepared to fight." Seconds after he ends his speech, the people from below begin to rise into the air. You're overcome with an urge to warn them, scream for them to run, but contain yourself, swallowing deeply.

Suddenly, before you can see what's happening, beams of light begin to shoot through the air. You zoom forward, under the impression of looking for the real Potter, when you spot him. You can tell by his mannerisms, the look on his face, his yells to Hagrid as he insists on doubling back to help the others. You shoot after the motorcycle, ignoring the other death eaters. Lucius follows you. Harry begins to shoot spells at you and you dodge them, diving behind the cover of clouds.

"Wait, Harry!" You shout as he shoots another stunning spell at you. You pull your mask up to reveal your features, and he ceases his spells at once. Lucius pulls up behind you, and Harry raises his wand. "No, please," you cry, zooming towards him. Hagrid bellows, but Harry calms him.

"Hagrid, she's okay." He looks sadly at you, his wand still awkwardly raised in the air. "What are you doing, Celia? Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine," you say. "I just needed to let you know something." Lucius has come level with you and glances away from the two of you, looking out for the other death eaters. "I'm sorry for anything I might've said to be cruel last year. I know that you're really a good person, whatever mistakes you made. And I want to let you know that you have my trust and support. You have two allies now, who appear to be on the side of the Dark Lord."

"I'm glad to hear it, Celia," Harry says, glancing at you and Lucius, who slips his mask back on. "But if you're going to stay under Voldemort's protection, you need to get back to your group."

"That's the thing," you say. "I trust you. And I needed to tell a third party, unless, well…" you don't want to imagine anything happening to Narcissa and Lucius, so you don't finish the sentence. "I'm going to Spain. If…if there's ever a need for me…in battle or anything…you need to contact me. I'm off the coast."

"I'll remember," Harry promises, his eyes full of fear. "I'll send a patronus with word." You look to Lucius, salute, and then dive your broom, driving it straight towards the ground. You land lightly in an abandoned field, full of tall grasses and a small farm near-by. The night is dark, save for a few cars that travel the dirt road and the glint of telephone towers scattered here and there.

At once, you carefully hide away in the field, cautiously drawing your wand out. Overhead, you can hear shouts and cries and there's a flash of red flames. Quickly, you mount your broom and begin to fly, skimming just a few feet above the ground. You fly for miles, traveling into a thickly wooded area. Its here where you begin to cast protective spells, slowly revolving in a small circle, making sure the area is secure. Once you've done so, you gather a small bundle of wood and concentrate hard, pointing your wand firmly at it. Slowly, after much concentration, the wood begins to quiver, suddenly jumping up and reshaping itself into canvas. To your relief, you've created a small tent, complete with a thick blanket and a lantern. You let out a sigh of relief and crawl inside, carefully removing the money from your shoes and the compass from your pocket. You lay them all out, side by side, and crawl under the blankets, shaking from nerves, excitement, and the cold air that howls outside, whipping angrily against your tent. You draw out the last items you took from home. From your inside pocket, you draw out a photograph of you and Draco from this year. The two of you are standing by the lake at Hogwarts, laughing as you playfully shove each other. As you watch, Draco grabs your hand as you attempt to smack him on the arm, he pulls you in and leans down to kiss you. You smile at watching the embrace and carefully smooth out the bent corners of the paper. Finally, you remove the delicate moonstone earrings pinned in your ears. You lay them on top of the photograph and then close your eyes. You fall asleep instantaneously.


	45. Chapter 45

~Year: 2010

For the next few days, you learned to travel discreetly. You kept your few belongings stored in the various pockets of your clothing so you never left a trace. You moved locations every night, moving towards the coast, being sure to keep hidden in the shadows, hidden away from the prying eyes of muggles or enemies.

You even slipped occasionally into society, usually to buy something to eat and on one occasion, you used a public bathroom to transfiguration. With your new, slick black hair, green eyes, much tanner skin, longer neck and a slightly larger nose, you felt safer. The change in your appearance allowed you to enter society more often.

However, the journey, as comfortable as it might have attempted to be was terrible. The nights were rarely warm and you found yourself curled in the fetal position, trying to contain your body heat. Food was scarce at times, as you had trouble actually transfiguring what you could find (mushrooms and berries) into something worth eating. You also lived in constant fear.

Your disappearance had not gone un-noticed. It was in a small village when you received your first shock. You had entered a small café to purchase a bottle of water and a sandwich.

"Number fourteen," the cashier said gruffly, handing you your receipt. "Should be up in a few minutes."

"Thanks," you had said, taking your bottle of water and sitting down at one of the small, rickety tables by one of the single-paned windows. You began to tap your fingers on the plastic-wood tabletop when an old man sitting in the corner cleared his throat audibly. You felt yourself blush and immediately laced your fingers.

"Oi," the old man had said, setting down his newspaper. He approached the cashier. "You got a loo?"

The cashier jerked his thumb over his shoulder, towards a faded-green painted door and then man quickly disappeared behind it, locking it behind him.

You begin to look out the window, watching muggles traveling by in their cars and on their scooters when something catches your eye. In your peripheral vision, you can see the man's newspaper. The picture on the front is moving.

You get up, and under the cover of throwing away a tissue; you grab the newspaper and bring it back to your table. You stared down at the front page of the Daily Prophet. And there you were, right on the front page.

Daughter of Late Socialites Missing

You felt your heart stop and your face blush nervously, but you ignored the picture of you on the front page, which was waving up at you and began to skim the article.

_On Tuesday, it was reported that the daughter of the late Robert and Alice Validus, Celia Viola Validus is missing._

"Numba fourteen," the cashier called, holding up a white paper bag and raising an eyebrow at you.

"Um, just one second," you replied nervously. You look back down at the paper.

_Miss Validus is reported to last been seen in the company of friends and her father's business partner and best friend, Lucius Malfoy._

_Mr. Malfoy had this to say at a press conference on Wednesday:_

"_To Celia, wherever you may be, we hope you are alright. Narcissa worries about you constantly, but we know that you're smart and determined and that you will find your way home eventually."_

_If anyone has any information on Miss Validus's whereabouts, please contact The Daily Prophet._

You gulp and stand from your chair, crumpling the newspaper in your hand. You slowly walk across the room and discreetly toss the newspaper into the waste bin. You grab the paper bag and exit the restaurant, climbing a trashcan and then lifting yourself onto the roof, mounting your broom, and speeding off into the night.

After you counted fourteen days of traveling, you found your way to the coast. You pulled Draco's old nimbus up on a steep cliff off the southern-most point of England, calculated by mapping out your progress on a 25-cent map you bought from a street vendor. With your finger, you trace your route. Straight down, crossing the English Channel and the Bay of Biscay, ending up on the coast of Spain. You fold up the map and place it in your pocket. You dismount your broom as the sound of boat horns begin to blow and the sun becomes brighter. You quickly head down the cliff and avoid the nearby dock by climbing into one of the sea caves. You shove your broom into the corner and curl up, your back pressed against the hard rock, attempting to fall asleep. You wake up to the sound of a ringing bell. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine chimes. You yawn and stretch. You nearly slept 11 hours, no great surprise, given your exhaustion after two weeks of traveling. Cautiously, you pull your broom out of the corner; brush a few spiders from the broom handle and head outside. Night has completely fallen, and the beach seems to be abandoned. You look to the sky, mount the broom, and begin to ride, rising into the clouds.

The night is quiet at first. There's a small sprinkling of rain as you fly over the channel, but when you enter the bay, it stops. After an hour of flying, you begin to relax the smallest bit. You lean back on the broom, enjoying the way your hair flies out behind you. It feels like freedom. You smile and raise your hands in the air.

"I'm free!" You shout into the clouds, and you can hear your voice reverberate off the water. You begin to laugh for the first time in what feels like months, enjoying the luxury of not having to worry about being killed every minute. As the broom speeds along, you take your wand from your pocket and begin to transform your appearance back to normal, your first order of freedom. With a smile, you pocket your wand and then dive out of the clouds. You skim down to the water level, watching yourself fly above it, your reflection smiling back at you, the blue eyes sparkling madly.

Suddenly, a beam of red light breaks the reflection. The water explodes in front of you and you scream. You look behind you to see three hooded figures closing in on you.

"Shit," you mutter. You pull out your wand and begin to cast spells at random, hoping to hit one of them, but they all manage to dodge them.

Taking advantage of the hooded figures' distraction, you rocket upwards, hiding in the misty white clouds. Immediately, you can hear them follow, and you zoom west, concealing yourself in the thick of it.

"Spread out!" You hear one of them command. "She's here. We just saw her, we followed her, we can't have lost her now!"

You bite into your knuckles to keep from screaming in terror. Thinking fast, you move your broom higher into the sky, looking down at the Death Eaters who have followed you. As you watch, the hoods slip from two of their heads. Immediately you spot Rookwood, Greyback, which leaves Avery. At once, you raise your wand and cast two stunning spells, sending Rookwood and Greyback down towards the water. You hear two definite splashes, heavy, like rocks.

"Very good, Celia," you hear someone roar from behind you. Immediately, you break your broom to see Avery pull up next to you. "Now give me the wand and I'll play nicely."

You look into his slightly pockmarked face and pull a scared of expression of your own. Because little does he know, you're not about to give up your wand.

"That's a girl. No need to be so scared. Hand it over, now."

You begin to move your wand towards his outstretched hand when you suddenly spin it in your palm, aiming towards his neck. "Expelliarmus!" You cry, and his wand flies from his hand, disappearing into the clouds. He looks back to you and gulps, looking slightly frightened. "No need to be so scared," you snarl. You push your wand into the veins on his neck. "How did you find me?"

"Rookwood," he chokes out. "He lives over in that little village off the coast. He saw you climb out of the cave with that broom when he was out for a walk. Thought it was suspicious, a young girl traveling alone. And he recognized the broom. Malfoy's."

"Does…does he know?" You ask.

"We didn't have time to contact him," Avery says. "Rookwood sent patronuses to me and Fenrir, we live closest. We followed you off the coast."

"Well," you say. "Isn't that clever."

"It would've been if you hadn't caught us."

"Shut up," you demand. "I'm thinking about what to do here."

"Don't kill me," he says quietly. "The Dark Lord might not believe that you have the strength to do it, but I know you do. Your parents did."

You soften slightly at his words. "I'm not going to kill you. You were a friend of my dad's. However much you might try to get me right now, I'm not going to take it personal. I know you do it for him. You don't want to die. And I don't either."

You tap your wand against your lips, suddenly raise it and bring it down.

"Imperio," you say. Avery starts, nearly slipping off his broom. His eyes become dazed and his mouth drops open. "You're going to do this, Avery. You're going to go comb the water, pull out Fenrir and Rookwood, because I can't stand to think they've both died at my hand. They're going to wonder where I went, so you're going to say you saw me fall into the water and disappear. You will then tell this same story to the Dark Lord. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he replies in a monotone.

"You will return to England and forget this ever happened."

"Okay," he says dumbly.

"Good," you say, beginning to back away from him. You quickly cast a disillusion charm on yourself, hiding your body from view. You glance towards the water, see Rookwood's body floating in a mass of seaweed, and then look back to Avery. You wave your wand, ending the curse, and then dive upwards, out of the clouds. You lay flat on the broom handle, causing the broom to hurtle faster through the air, trying to ignore the shouts of the Death Eaters as they awake from their stunning spells. You slow only after an hour to catch your breath, which is racked with terrified sobs. Hyperventilating slightly, you collapse upon the broom handle, which causes the broom to zoom towards the water. You yank upwards on the handle, steadying yourself, when you see it. Just ahead. Land.

You begin to cry with relief. You flatten yourself down on the handle again, sending the broom quickly towards the coast. You begin to travel over the beach, looking down at the houses, trying to spot your own. Finally, you spot it. The small, key shaped bay that juts inward, private to one house only. Crying from relief happiness now, you aim the broom towards the ground, heading straight for the sandy beach that awaits you. Clumsily, you touch down on the beach, your weak legs collapsing slightly as you land. You fall into the water, soaking your clothes and hair, but you stand up, take off your shoes, and begin to run through the sand, cutting your feet open on the rocks that litter the way. But you don't even make it to the house before the door slams open.

"Who's there?" A voice commands. A lit wand blinds your vision, and then someone shouts happily. "Celia!" The light goes out and you blink a few times, trying to restore your vision. You hear the sound of bare feet slapping against smooth stone, the rustle of sand shifting, and then, Draco is there. He pulls you in tightly, pressing his lips against yours, gluing you against him.

"Hi," you say breathlessly, breaking away from him a minute later.

"My god," he says. "You. You're here. How did you…?"

"It's a long story," you reply, shaking your head.

"Is this real?" He asks, reaching out to touch your cheek.

"Believe it," you gasp, throwing your arms around his neck. Draco hungrily grasps your waist, smoothly running his hand over the small of your back. You raise a leg, wrapping it around his waist, and he grabs your ass, pulling you up and closer to him. You jump onto him, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist, not moving your lips from his as he holds onto you tightly, carrying you towards the house. He steps over the threshold and lets you down lightly, pressing you against the wall, kissing your neck and tearing at your shirt.

Trying to catch your breath, you reach out and grab the bottom of his shirt, pulling it swiftly above his head. You scrape your nails down his chest as Draco moves his lips to the bottom of your jaw, panting slightly with desire as he does so.

"Jesus," he says, pressing his hips against yours, grinding you back into the wall. You grab him by the neck and pull his lips down to yours, allowing his exploring hands to tear off your clothes as easily as ripping off a band-aid. You throw an arm around his shoulder, digging your nails into his back as he kisses the nape of your neck, and then continues down, kissing your chest, moving down towards your breast…

And then you're interrupted. Something silvery and white bounds into the room, knocking the door open. The two of you spring apart, reaching for your wands, but there's no need. The intruder is a patronus, in the form of a stag.

"A stag," Draco murmurs, stepping toward it. He suddenly frowns and then glowers deeply. "Potter."


	46. Chapter 46

~Year: 2010

Before you can even open your mouth, Harry's patronus begins to speak.

"Celia, I needed to send you a patronus today. It's the only time I've gotten a break in the past few days. I wanted to make sure you're all right. The prophet's been reporting on your disappearance for the past few days, since you're so high-profile." Draco quickly turns to you, his brow furrowed deeply. "I have a feeling that I'll be off the map in a while soon, and I may not be able to contact you. Reply as soon as you can. Let me know if you're okay." The patronus fades into the darkness.

"So you're talking to Potter?" Draco asks, incredulous. He reaches down and snatches his shirt from the floor. His hands are shaking. "And you're missing? How could you Celia? They're going to be watching for you now."

"First of all," you say. "Of course I'm not _talking _to Potter. We aren't _best_ friends or anything. But given that he's the enemy of the person who tried to kill you, he is a _friend. _And I trust him." Draco raises an eyebrow. "It's important that someone knows where I am. It's not like he can go around shooting off his mouth when he's the number one most wanted man in England."

"Fine," Draco relents. "But what's this about you missing?"

"I knew that I wasn't going to decide without you there. I mean it. You give me so much strength, and when you weren't with me I felt so, so weak. I knew that the Dark Lord just couldn't wait to get rid of me. He was going to kill me. So I left. He never even saw me leave, Draco. We're fine." You don't tell him about the encounter you had with Avery, which would just cause him to worry more.

"God," he says, reaching down to grab your shirt, which he tosses to you. You slip it over your head. "I hope you're right."

"I am," you reassure him. You reach out for him and he reluctantly comes over, brushing your hair back from your neck and kissing your jugular vein. You knot your fingers in his hair and press your cheek against his and close your eyes.

"You had a long trip," Draco mumbles into your neck.

"Yeah," you reply. "And I want to go to sleep soon. Just…give me a moment. I need to send a message."

You raise your wand, concentrate, and then wave it silently. The familiar form of your patronus explodes from the tip of your wand. The panther raises a paw, it's claws extended. You nod to it, and the panther gallops out the door and into the night, not making a sound.

"How are my mum and dad?" Draco asks, leading you into the kitchen. He raises a hand in the air and waves it and the lantern-shaped lights that hang from the ceiling flicker into action, bathing the dark-wooded cabinets in a soft glow. He grabs a glass from one of the cabinets and crosses the room to the copper sink, where he begins to fill the glass.

"Your mum worries constantly," you tell him. You recall the sound of Narcissa's stifled sobs, which you could hear at night, even though she was all the way down the hall from you. "Your dad…well, he is a rebel, all of a sudden. I think he still hates muggle borns, but he hates Voldemort more."

"Oh yeah?" Draco asks, shutting of the water and handing the glass to you.

"Yeah." You take the glass and drink hungrily; you didn't realize how parched you were. "He called some woman in the village a 'mud-blood' last week and kicked one of your houselves in the ribs a few days later."

"Well," Draco says quietly, running a hand over his hair and setting his hands down on the counter. "You can't teach an old dog new tricks."

"Right," you agree. "But he helped me, you know. He loves you a lot. He could've been found out, he could've…"

You stop talking because Draco has walked around the granite counter-top, taken the glass from your hands and set it down on the counter. He looks down into your eyes with his beautiful irises and you feel yourself freeze up. "I don't care about my dad," he says quietly. "I was just being polite."

"That's really-" you begin to scold, but he leans down and kisses you sweetly. You smile and place a hand on the back of his neck, playing with his collar. "You know," you say, standing up and pressing your hands to his chest, straightening the buttons on his shirt. "It's my first night here ever. We never came here when I was a kid."

"We didn't either," Draco responds, raising an eyebrow.

"Well then," you say, giggling at your boldness. "I think the beds need a sufficient breaking in, don't you?" Before you can even finish your question, Draco has seized you and thrown you over his shoulder, as easily as a sack of rice, and begins to run up the stairs towards the bedroom.

You wake up late the next morning. The sun filters through the blinds in the master bedroom and you stir, pushing aside the goose-down quilt. Draco is still asleep, curled up on his side, his arms tightly grasping a pillow. You smile; kiss him on the cheek, stretch and tentatively head into the adjoining loo. With a groggy sigh, you turn on the sink and let the water run, occasionally testing the temperature. When it's freezing cold, you fill your palms with the clear, cool liquid and splash it onto your face. You let out a small shiver, dry your face with a towel and then head back into the bedroom, open the door, and begin to walk downstairs to the kitchen.

The mornings here are already more beautiful than you could have imagined. The sun is already brighter than you usually see, without one cloud in the sky. You can feel the warmth shooting through the glass and caressing your skin, no doubt browning you in a way the English sun never could.

Barefoot, you pad across the cool, smooth tiles into the kitchen and pull open the icebox. Inside is a liter of milk, a bowl of fresh strawberries, mango, bananas, avocado and sliced ham. You draw out the strawberries and pull off the top of the container. You've just raised a plump, ripe strawberry to your lip when a loud tapping sounds out through the room. Startled, you jump and draw the strawberry, thinking of death eaters and Voldemort. You're about to scramble upstairs and find Draco when you see the intruder. Tapping on the window is a large, tawny owl. You let out a squeal of glee. The owl is your own.

"Cinnia," you greet her quietly, pushing open the bamboo-plated window. She hoots feebly and flies in, landing on your arm. In her beak she clutches a large package. You set her down on the counter and she sticks her head under her wing.

"What is it?" You hear Draco asks. He's standing at the bottom of the stairs, his hair sticking up slightly, looking disoriented. "I heard you scream."

"It's a good scream," you inform him, pointing to Cinnia. "She showed up with this in her beak. It's from your mum, I'm sure."

Draco takes the package from your arms and pulls at the ends of the string that holds the parcel paper together. A basket, an envelope, and a rolled up copy of the Daily Prophet rolls out onto the counter. You pick up the basket and look inside while Draco opens the envelope. Narcissa, concerned as usual, had filled a basket with pounds of food. You place the basket aside and pick up the Daily Prophet.

But Draco gets there first. He grabs the paper and holds it above your head.

"What are you doing?" You ask, staring at him. He carefully holds the paper out of your reach and begins to back away.

"You can't see it," he says. "I mean…whatever. But we need it."

"For what?" You demand. You stomp towards him and jump, trying to grab the paper from his hand. "What's going on?" When he merely jumps higher than you, you get angry. "TELL ME RIGHT NOW."

"No," Draco says firmly. Actually infuriated now, you raise a hand and sock him in the stomach. "Abusive," Draco wheezes, doubling over. Triumphantly, you grab the letter from his hand and make towards the living room. You settle down in one of the cream and white wicker chairs and fold out the paper. On the front page, again, is another picture of you.

Daughter of Late Socialites Dangerous, Wanted

You let out an indignant gasp at the title and quickly smooth the paper over your legs so you can read better. You hear Draco enter the room quietly behind you but ignore him, too concerned to look up from the Daily Prophet.

_Miss Celia Validus, who was thought to be missing, has officially been declared wanted. The teenager, daughter of the late Robert and Alice Validus, is thought to be very dangerous and a talented witch gone wrong. Insiders report to the Prophet that Miss Validus took a funny turn last year, falling into a bad crowd. Among her social circle? None other than Harry Potter._

_Miss Validus was one of the last few students to see Professor Dumbledore alive. In fact, she was one of the few who saw Dumbledore in his last moments of death. In her company at the time? Harry Potter. According to Prime Minister Thickneese, Miss Validus and Potter are prime suspects in the murder of Dumbledore._

"_Both are extremely disturbed, unstable teens," he said at a press conference on Wednesday. "Why they wanted Dumbledore dead? I suspect that Miss Validus was in leagues with dark wizards, whereas Potter, well, I don't think we'll ever know."_

_Miss Validus disappeared last week, while on a trip with friends. She was last seen around Surrey, and then disappeared. While her friends didn't notice her disappearance at first, they doubled back to search for her. It was confirmed this week that she was not missing when no body was found._

_If anyone spots Miss Validus or Mr. Potter, please do not try to deal with these persons. They are extremely dangerous. Contact the Ministry right away._

"What the fuck?" You let out an incredulous laugh at this point, surprised by the prophet's ridiculous claim.

"My mum says she'll still be a mother figure to you, even if you are disturbed," Draco says lightly, holding up the envelope. He stretches his legs out and places his feet on the glass coffee table, rocking back and forth in his wicker chair. You throw down the newspaper and rub the spot in between your eyes; ready to cure the oncoming headache you were about to receive.

"Oh come on," Draco says, picking up the paper and crumpling it up. With a quick movement, he casts it across the room, so it hits the grate that covers the fireplace. "It's rubbish. Most of it. I always knew you were deranged, but I know it's in a good way."

"Oh shut up," you snap. "I'm an accused murderer at the moment. It's not a time for jokes."

"Right," Draco says hastily. He stands up and places a hand on your back. "Just don't cry, okay?"

You can't help but laugh. He really does know how to make you feel better. He smirks at you, relieved.

"I won't," you promise. "Let's go outside or something. I need to get my mind off the fact that I'm 'extremely dangerous.'"


	47. Chapter 47

Year: 2010

Living in exile was a mirage. At the thought of it, you had believed you would be free of Voldemort, of fear; that you would be able to live as you wished, rather than under the thumb of a tyrant. However, you were wrong. Though you might have been hundreds of miles away, you still lived under Voldemort's tyranny, and you could not escape.

Draco, clever as he was, found another wizard in the small village in which you resided. For a couple of galleons, he promised to get you daily copies of the Daily Prophet, no questions asked.

And everyday, the papers proclaimed your name. Well, yours and Harry's. Usually next to each other. The Ministry, now under the control of Voldemort, named both you and Harry enemies of the Ministry, of the magical community. By doing this, the freedom that you had so desired evaporated before your eyes.

You were a shut-in now. You couldn't risk going out into the community, lest you would be seen. You spent your time sitting on the porch of the house or venturing into the jungle-garden in the backyard, trying to tame the weeds. You couldn't leave the premises, you couldn't risk anything.

Draco, however, was virtually safe. Though the appearance of the pale blonde obviously bemused some of the townspeople, but he claimed that they were otherwise polite and didn't question him. He would go into the village and buy different foods and spices and good to try to please you, keep your spirits up, but most of the time it wouldn't work. You would collapse into long periods of depression, being shut up in an unfamiliar house in a city you did not know.

One morning, a morning almost like any other, it started to rain. The rain came down in heaps, splattering the sidewalks and the sand, causing the grains to lump up and condense into solid blocks. You were sitting straight up in bed, your hair pulled back, a book in your hand, when Draco entered the room, his hair sopping wet, looking very much like he had just climbed out of a swimming cold.

"Bloody cold out there," he said, walking into the bathroom. You could hear the squish of his shoes against the tile floor and the plop of his clothing as the garments hit the ground. You glance out the rain-streaked window.

"It looks like it," you agree. You place your book on the nightstand and get up, shuffling towards the window. You push it open and stick your hand out into the rain. Drops fall into your palm, beading up and quivering, as if afraid of the contact with your skin. Draco emerges from the bathroom, toweling off his hair. He smiles wistfully when he sees you at the window.

"Reminds me of home." He turns away and heads back into the bathroom. He emerges a few minutes later, clothed and dry. He wraps his arms around your waist and kisses your neck. You lean back into his embrace, bringing a hand up to his neck.

"I miss home," you say quietly. Draco takes your palm and kisses it, then folds your fingers over. He kisses each of the knuckles.

"Me too," he says. He pauses and runs a hand through his hair, which has become even white in the almost-constant sun. "Why don't I go out and bring back some soup? There's this little café up the street that makes good minestrone."

"I like chowder," you remind him. He squeezes your shoulder and leaves the room. As you hear him clop down the stairs, you put your jacket on and a pair of rain boots that lay beside the armoire. Slowly, you pull up your hood and go downstairs as well, heading out into the rain. You step out into the little garden you've created, which is drenched and pathetic looking in the rain.

You sink to your knees and begin to pull weeds out of the ground, ferociously ripping up the roots. It gives you a vicious contentment to tear these plants from the ground, to know that they, too, no longer get to live at home. Unfortunately, as you pull up a venomous tulip, the petals quiver, and then close over your finger.

"Ouch," you cry, throwing down the flower. You look down at your finger, which is bleeding copiously. You get up and stomp on the flower, and then hurry inside, trying to brush away the drops of blood. Once inside, you kick off your boots and run to the linen cabinet in the hallway, searching for the first aid kit, which holds a small bottle of essence of dittany. You pull open the doors, shove the towels and sheets aside and begin to grope around the shelves. "Shit," you mutter as your hand gives a painful throb. It's swollen to twice its size now and is crimson red. You reach up and begin to pat along the top shelves when your hand suddenly seizes something. A small string. Without thinking, you pull.

At once, the top shelf collapses.

"Oh damn!" You yell, stomping your foot and trying to keep the shelf from falling. But that's when you realize that the shelf wasn't falling at all. Instead, a false bottom to the shelf has fallen open, and a leather bound book sits there, covered with an inch of thick dust. Hesitantly, you grasp the book and pull it down. Lightly, you blow off the dust and then rub your sleeve on the cover, so you can read the words. Surprisingly, however, there are no words.

Quickly, you close the doors to the linen cabinet, full on ignoring your mess of a hand, and walk into the kitchen. You pour yourself a cup of milk and then take a seat at one of the leather barstools and open the book.

The pages are made of now-yellowed parchment. Inside, notes in your father's handwriting line page after page, written in jet-black ink. They're dated from as early as 1994, when you were only two or three.

_June 8, 1994_

_Alice thinks that we should have a back-up plan, in case something happens to us. I think it's a good possibility, now that we have enemies on both sides. Poor Celia, just a little baby, doesn't have any idea the danger she's in._

_January 30, 1994_

_The Dark Lord's darkest secrets lie ahead. I know some of his lies, yes, that he's a half-blood and that he killed his uncle. But I have a feeling there's more, and if I find out (I will, I must) I will pass it on to someone trustworthy._

You frown at these entries and flip through a few more pages, settling on 1999, when you were eleven.

_May 12, 1999_

_Regulus believes he found the horcrux. I have a feeling there's more, but we must do something about this one. He told Alice and I that he plans to destroy this one within the year, but we both protested. The Dark Lord grows stronger everyday, surely he will feel his power break?_

_It's not worth the risk._

_Regulus says that we can't tell a soul, but I wonder…if I told someone, would it guarantee my family's safety?_

_July 17, 1999_

_Alice and I told Albus Dumbledore about the horcrux, about the locket. He was skeptical at first, but when he preformed a complex charm on Alice, he was able to read her memories. At once, he asked who else knew._

_I was about to say Regulus, but Alice shook her head. "He'll tell if he wants," she said. "That's his decision."_

_August 29, 1999_

_Regulus is furious we told Dumbledore. However, he seems to be more deceitful than I thought._

"_At least you didn't tell him where it is," he said when we finished telling him the story. Alice and I looked at each other, confused._

"_That's it, isn't it? We don't know where it is." Alice became angsty._

"_You don't know where it is," Regulus had corrected. And then he left. Tonight, we received a letter from him. He was angry, rambling mad. He said he was going to find the locket himself, that he 'owed' Voldemort. Then he went completely crazy, saying he was going to get revenge on us for what we did, for our betrayal._

_How is it betrayal if we're all on the same side?_

The door to the house opens and you jump a foot in the air, alarmed.

"Hi," Draco says, coming into the kitchen with a bag full of food. He begins to unload the bags, putting out some traveling cups of soup and hot bread. You immediately reach over and grab a piece of the bread, which is so warm that when you break it apart, steam rises from the interior. Hungrily, you shove it in your mouth. "Careful there, tiger," Draco teases and you blush. "There's more than one person in this household."

You swallow and stick your tongue out at him.

"What's that?" He asks, pointing to the book in front of you.

"Oh. Um…" you place your hands on the sides of the book, as if guarding it from him. You hadn't really thought about showing anyone, but if you had to choose anyone to show it to, it would be Draco. "It's my dad's journal. I didn't know he actually kept one."

"Oh man," Draco replies, looking down at it, and then up at you. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you assure him. "Seriously, not a lot of it is sentimental, if you know what I mean."

He nods.

"Actually," you take a deep breath. "It's about their business. Their deals with people….Draco, my parents betrayed the Dark Lord. They knew something about him that no one else knew."

Draco raises an eyebrow. "What's that?" He asks, unscrewing the lid to his soup.

"My parents knew that the Dark Lord was working on something called a horcrux…"

Draco interrupts by spitting soup all over the counter.

"A Horcrux?" He asks, wiping tortilla soup off his shirt. "Are you sure?" "Yeah," you say, opening the book to the last entries. "See? They were trying to stop him. My parents weren't even true death eaters."

"Okay," he responds quietly. "I'm just not sure what you want me to say right now."

"Don't you see?" You ask excitedly, pointing to the books, slamming your finger down on the pages. "I only followed the Death Eaters because I thought it was what my parents wanted. And they didn't want that at all. I never have to feel guilty about following them, because I don't have to. My parents didn't and neither will I."

"I thought that was fairly obvious, given that they tried to kill me and then you escaped them," Draco replies rather sullenly, stirring his soup. You stand on your tiptoes and kiss him on the temple.

"Don't be such a sod," you tell him. "We have information some people would kill for. Can you be a little excited?"

"They already did kill for that information." Draco slips out from under your arms. "Regulus killed your parents."

"And that's why we need to use this information," you tell him, frowning at his behavior. "It's important. They died for it."

"I don't want to die, and you don't either," Draco says angrily.

"Who says I don't?" you ask, your temper flaring. "I'll die for something that's important."

"Don't be stupid," Draco snaps.

"I'm not being stupid," you say hotly. "You're being stubborn and cowardly."

"Well then," Draco sneers. "Why don't you just go off with Potter? You two can fight the Dark Lord together, win over the wizarding world."

"What is wrong with you?" You yell, stomping your foot. "Where did that even come from? I wouldn't go anywhere without you, no matter how important the task was. Or did I forget to mention that WHEN I TRAVELED FOR TWO WEEKS TO GET HERE?"

Draco falls silent and his pale skin turns pink. Your mouth quivers in anger, and when he turns away, you burst into frustrated tears.

"Shh," Draco says, and suddenly, he's holding you in his arms, cradling you. You wrap your arms around his waist, clinging to him. He runs a thumb down your cheek, wiping away your tears. "If it's that important to you Celia, I'll do anything to help. I just don't want to lose you, and I know you don't want to lose me."

"We won't lose one another if we stick together."


	48. Chapter 48

~Year: 2010

You and Draco decided to leave Spain. The two of you felt hopeless there, reading the newspaper and listening to the wireless when all the action was back home. You felt as if you needed to rise up against the Dark Lord, while Draco was worried about the well being of his family. Not a day would go by without hearing of the deaths that would occur, some of which you knew. Padma and Parvati Patil's mother had been declared murdered, while others, like the Weasley family, had disappeared off the face of the earth. Every night, at seven 'o clock, you and Draco would sit by the slow-burning fire and tune into the radio, just listening to the names, hoping that you wouldn't recognize any of them. As soon as the reading of the names were complete, you would shut it off, afraid to hear anything further.

As the weeks began to slip by, you found that it was nearly the end of December when you and Draco decided to return to England. The day before you left was the twenty-fifth. It just didn't seem right to return to a blood-bathed land on Christmas. However, Christmas wasn't the same as it usually had been. There was no tree, no waking up to presents. It didn't snow in Spain, but it did rain heavily. The two of you spent your time packing one bag, on which you had cast an undetectable extension charm.

However, Draco did have one surprise for you that Christmas night. You had just finished folding the sheets and placing them away in the linen cabinet. You closed the door, sighed, and ran your hand over the handsome wood, wondering when you would be back in this house, the place your parents had treasured enough to give to you.

"Celia!" You heard Draco call from the sitting room, and you began to walk towards it. "Celia!" He called again, and this time, there was a slightly anxious tone in his voice. Worried, you plucked your wand from your pocket, and began to run, hopping over the hallway rug and skidding out onto the tile, nearly hitting your knees against the back of the sitting room couch.

Draco was sitting straight up in a chair, his limbs relaxed.

"What was that for?" You ask, gasping. "I thought someone was breaking in or something."

"Can you just come sit for a second, please?" He asks, looking up at you, his face dead serious. Quietly, you place your wand on the coffee table, walk around it and perch yourself on the armrest. He grabs onto your waist and pulls you into his lap. You fold your legs over the side of the chair and throw one arm around his shoulders.

"I got you something for Christmas," he says quietly.

"Oh no," you say. "I…I didn't. I mean I couldn't. Couldn't even go out, could I? I would have gotten you something, you know that."

"You've given me everything I could ever need," Draco replies quietly. "Come on, this is just something small, something you don't even need." He pulls a handsome, black leather box from his pocket and hands it to you. You crack open the lid to see a white cameo necklace, delicately hanging from a thick black ribbon. Interestingly enough, the woman in the cameo resembles you greatly.

"It was my grandmothers," Draco tells you as you reach out to touch it. "Funny enough, she gave it to my mum before she died, and my mum always thought it looked like you."

"It does," you say with a smile. You lean in and hug him, wrapping your arms tightly around him. "Thank you. I love it."

"Thought so," Draco says smugly, and you smile at the return of his excess self-confidence, happy to see the carefree Draco you once knew, even if it was only for a moment. He takes the necklace from its place and helps to clasp it around your neck. You reach up to straighten the charm, and then tilt your chin towards the stucco ceiling, elongating your neck. "I thought it could remind you of me," he tells you.

"Well, I'll always think of you when I look at it," you tell him. "But why would I need to be reminded of you? You'll be by my side. You have to be."

"You know I want to be." He exhales and runs a shaky hand over his hair. "I just don't know what's going to happen when we get back. What the hell is going to happen to us? What if the worse happens?"

"If the worse happens, we'll brave it together," you re-assure him. You take his hand and place it on your neck, leaning into the warmth of his palm.

"I need you to know how much you mean to me."

"I think I've made how I feel clear," you respond. You take his hand and begin to pull him away from the sitting room, up towards the bedroom. The two of you lay down on the bed, one of his arms draped around your waist, and fall asleep, whispering re-assurances to each other as you drift off to sleep.

The next morning, you and Draco wake early, to the soft call of the morning doves as they land outside your window. You dress quickly, and then strip the bed of its sheets. You carefully fold them and place them in a linen cabinet.

"Ready?" Draco asks, coming up to you as you place the sheets back.

"Almost," you answer. You grab your father's journal from the coffee table and carefully place it in your coat pocket. "And now, we have to hide ourselves."

"Do we have to?" Draco asks. "It's a terrible shame to hide my face from the world."

You shake your head, but smile. "Of course we have to. You're dead, and I'm a dangerous criminal, remember?" You raise your wand and tap Draco on the head, causing him to become completely invisible. You reach out and touch his shoulder, making sure he's still there.

"Okay," you say. "Do me."

"Gladly," Draco says, and you can tell he's smirking. You roll your eyes, and then feel him tap you on the head. You look down to see your body quickly disappearing, blending into the environment you stand in. Draco takes your hand, and in his other, picks up the suitcase you packed. He turns on the spot, and your bodies begin to whistle through the air. At once, you feel yourself hit the ground and then blink, your eyes adjusting to the new surroundings. You and Draco are standing on the street where his house is and where yours used to be.

"Come on," he says. Draco quickly stuffs the suitcase in a bush and begins to walk down the street, towards Malfoy Manor.

"Wait," you say, grabbing his arm. "We need to be careful. Be vigilant, okay? We shouldn't even go past the gates."

"I know," he replies, somewhat impatiently, shaking off your hand. "We've discussed this, it will be okay." You follow him, somewhat nervously, to the gates that block off Malfoy Manor. Draco takes a deep breath and steps up to them, placing his hands on the iron in a longing manor.

"You miss home," you note in a whisper, coming up next to him. You place your hand on the gate as well. "I do too. This place means a lot to me."

"Yeah, I miss it." Draco leans his forehead against one of the iron railings. You stand on your tiptoes and look into the gardens, which appear to be quiet.

"Okay," you say, and he looks down at you, perplexed. "Come on. Let's go in. Quietly though. You can't speak, and we can't go inside, we just need to look in the windows to spot them. Okay?"

Draco doesn't reply, but rather kisses your forehead. The two of you shimmy through the bars, careful not to make any noise, and then begin to tiptoe down the gravel driveway, keeping your eyes peeled for any movement. When you nearly reach the Manor, Draco stops, and then throws out an arm, catching you in the chest.

"Ow!" You mouth, but he shakes his head adamantly, anxiously looks over the windows, searching for a sight, just even a glimpse of his parents. Then, he suddenly makes a movement. In the front window that looks into the kitchen, is Narcissa. She's standing at the sink, washing her hands, and looking out over the gardens. She looks years older, tired, and disheveled. Her long hair is tied up, her eyes are unfocused. You take a step towards her, towards the window, but then Draco grabs you. At that moment, the front door opens wide.

You let out a small gasp and take a step backwards. Three death eaters emerge from the house, and you recognize Fenrir, Bellatrix, and Lucius himself, who looks tired and depressed.

"Where did…?" Bellatrix begins to speak, but Fenrir suddenly makes a growling noise in the back of his throat. Without taking so much as a breath, Draco reaches out, takes you by the elbow, and silently begins to move backwards, away from the house.

"There's someone here," Fenrir snarls, his lips flaring back. At once, Lucius's head snaps up, and his eyes begin to roam over the garden. Bellatrix pulls out a short, silver knife from her pocket, and you recognize it as the knife she used to kill Regulus. Fenrir lurches forward, his nostrils breathing deeply. You close your eyes and continue to move backwards, further away from the death eaters. Fenrir suddenly stops in his tracks, and you open your eyes, relieved. And then, something terrible, gut wrenching happens.

"Validus," he breathes. "The Validus girl is here."

You bite into your knuckles in fear to keep yourself from whimpering. Your eyeteeth break the skin, and blood rushes into your mouth. Draco leads you to the gate, and he quietly begins to step through the bars.

"She can't be here," Lucius argues, his voice carrying out over the gardens. "She's been missing for months. She wouldn't show up here after all this time. I doubt she's even alive."

"No," Fenrir snaps. You begin to move your leg through the iron bars, your arms quaking in fear. "She's here, and there is someone else with her." Lucius's face drains of color, and Bellatrix suddenly throws her knife at the gate. It spins through the iron bars, nearly missing Draco. Startled, you fall backwards, and your arm catches the gate, rattling the iron.

"There!" Bellatrix shouts, pointing at you. "She's there. Get her!" Fenrir leaps at the gate, and Draco grabs your hand. The two of you begin to run down the gravel road, your chest clenching in fear. Fenrir follows, running faster than you would have thought possible, with Bellatrix on his heels, shooting spells after you. A killing curse nearly hits you in the leg, and Draco pulls you over to the side of the road. You dive into a hedge, and curl up as Bellatrix and Fenrir continue to run, believing they're following you.

"Come on," Draco whispers, his breath short. He grabs the suitcase he stored in the bush earlier, and then takes your hand. You close your eyes and turn on the spot, dragging him along with you. The two of you end up outside a river, under the shade of trees that grow in an r-shape.

"That was too close," Draco says, his voice shaking. You lean over and vomit into the water, remembering the way Bellatrix's knife had glimmered as it directed towards you, as if it was going to plunge into your heart.


	49. Chapter 49

~Year: 2011

New Year's came and went. It didn't matter much, as you and Draco has no idea what you were doing. The two of you sat, huddled in your small, make shift tent.

"I think we need to have a plan of sorts," you told Draco on the first of January. "New Year, new plan, yeah?"

"We never had a plan in the first place," Draco points out sourly, attempting to stoke the bluebell fire that was flickering in a bowl. He blew on the flames, trying to tease them into becoming larger, but all he did was blow out the flames. "Dammit," he muttered, slapping the bowl away from him. The bowl flew off the folding table and hit the rocky ground, shattering to pieces.

Quietly, you walked over to the pieces and directing your wand at them. The bowl flew back together, repairing itself.

"I'm sorry you're so frustrated," you tell him in a small voice, setting the bowl down on the table. Draco's sitting in the chair, his fingers laced together, looping them around the back of his neck and looking towards the ceiling, his face pained. "But I'm frustrated too. It's twenty degrees out and we're in the middle of nowhere. Everyday I read my father's journal, looking for some kind of clue, something that might help us."

"Help us with what?" Draco exploded, standing up so suddenly, he knocked the chair aside. "What are we supposed to do, Celia?"

"We need to destroy those horcruxes," you tell him, standing on your toes, trying to look him in the eye. "I know what they are and what they do. So did my father. And if he can just say where…we can get them. And destroy them. And then the Dark Lord will be mortal." You step closer to Draco. "He will be defeated and we can live freely. Everyone will be able to."

"Well, since we haven't the foggiest of how to start," Draco replied with a nasty tone. "I'm going to bed."

He stepped around the small folding table and threw himself onto the bunk, muttering to himself.

"You're being selfish," you nag, annoyed, and step out of the tent. You cross your arms over your chest and look out over the winding river, which is frozen solid. It's so cold that your breath comes out in white puffs, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up in protest. It's then that you realize that Draco is right. The two of you have been…well…stranded in the same spot for almost two weeks without really any plan of a sort. No idea what to do or where to start. It's then that you remember someone who did have a plan.

Cautiously, you look towards the tent, and when you see Draco is still stretched out on his cot, you raise your wand and bring it down through the crisp winter air. At once, the customary patronus of the panther appears. It leaps down onto the frosty ground; it's powerful paws not making a sound as they hit the dead leaves. It looks at you and blinks, waiting.

"Tell Harry," you say in a slightly shaky voice. The panther pounces into the trees, and then disappears from sight.

The tent flaps open to reveal Draco, still wearing a frown. He pushes aside the canvas flap and crosses his arms.

"Who were you talking to?" He asks you.

"I…" you say, unsure of how to answer. You know that he would disapprove, but you can't hide what you've just done. "I sent a patronus to Harry."

"Potter?" He spits, and looks more fiercely angry than ever. "Why would you do that?"

"You wanted a plan," you retort. "He's got one."

"So you want to join up with Potter and his friends?" Draco demands, knitting his eyebrows. "You ditching me, then?"

"Why would I ditch you?" You stomp your foot and place your hands on your hips. "I risked my life to come to you. You think I'd just leave you after that?"

"Well, you certainly wouldn't mind leaving me for him," Draco says in a tired voice. "You have before." He stretches his arms, swinging them around his body. "You never told me why you did, either."

You sigh. "He blackmailed me, Draco. He knew that I was a death eater, and he knew that you were too. He told me that if I wasn't with him, he'd tell. I was afraid of what would happen to us if he did."

"HE BLACKMAILED YOU?" Draco roars. You take a step back. You've never seen him quite this angry, and you're terrified. Draco lunges to the side and punches a tree in his rage. A few branches fall from the tree and piles of snow fall to the ground. His fist leaves an indent in the thick tree trunk. "HE BLACKMAILED YOU AND YOU JUST WANT TO GO LIVE WITH HIM? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

"Stop yelling," you shout over him. "He apologized and I forgave him. I know he's a good person who was just going through some stuff. He's the one who's going to fix our world, Draco. Yeah, he's made mistakes, but haven't we all?" You realize that you're pleading on Harry's behalf. "We have to trust him. He's going to end the Dark Lord's life!"

"Fuck Voldemort!" Draco suddenly screams, and you freeze, staring at him in amazement. "I don't care about him, I care about you…and you…you don't…" he struggles to find the words. Suddenly, a crack sounds out in the forest. The two of you freeze and look at each other.

"Someone apparated," you whisper. "It could be Harry."

There's no sound in the area except for the two of you breathing, and deep down, you know it's not Harry, but someone sinister.

"No," the two of you say at the same time.

"Run," Draco whispers. You turn around and begin to sprint away from the campsite, breathing in deeply, jumping over the logs that litter the ground. Draco is right next to you, pumping his arms back and forth, his expression nervous. At one point, he runs past a tree and you can see him no more.

"Draco?" You murmur, stopping. There's no answer except for the cawing of a raven as it perches in a nearby tree. There's a sudden crunching noise, and you spin on the spot, looking for the source of the noise, but you can't see anyone. "Draco?" You call out quietly.

Suddenly, a figure begins to emerge from a spot in the trees, moving slowly. Tall and blonde, you notice with relief, and you move towards him, being careful to tiptoe quietly. It's when you're only four feet away from the person that you realize it's not Draco.

"Hello, love," the man says, leering at you. At once, you recognize Selwyn, a death eater. He pushes back his blonde hair and holds out a long-finger nailed hand to you. You stumble backwards, panicking. "Don't be nervous," he says. "We just want to talk."

"We?" You repeat, your voice going up an octave. You trip as you walk, and feel yourself back into something solid. You look up and see Fenrir Greyback looking down at you, bearing his sharp teeth and panting slightly. With revulsion, you examine the bits of flesh caught between his fangs. You look to your right and left and see others closing in. Avery and Rookwood join Greyback and Selwyn, closing in on you, trapping you. You panic, turning in circles, trying to find an out, but stop when you see another figure approach. Bellatrix is moving forward from the trees, and in her wake, Draco floats along, unconscious, a bloody lump on his skull.

"Your own nephew," you shout at her. "Flesh and blood. How could you do that to your family?"

"He isn't my family, dearie," Bellatrix snarls. She yanks up her sleeve, and the other death eaters do the same, revealing the dark mark. "This. THIS, is my family." She gestures to the others. "And you two were part of that." She puts on a deranged grin. "Not anymore."

Greyback lets out a low, gruff laugh.

"Get the girl," she commands, and Avery grabs your upper arm.

"Where are we going?" You demand, but they ignore you. At once, Avery apparates, and you feel the familiar sucking sensation, as if your breath has been torn from your throat. And then your feet hit ground, you open your eyes, and immediately, you feel an impending sense of doom. The six of you are outside Malfoy Manor.

"Get inside," Avery commands, pushing you towards the door, harshly taking your wand from your hand. He hands it to Bellatrix, who pockets it, and then waves her own wand, sending Draco's body floating ahead of the group. You follow him, swallowing the bile rising in your throat, and step over the threshold.

The house looks exactly the same, and for that, you want to fall to your knees and kiss the Persian carpet on which you're standing. A rush of memories from your childhood comes flooding back, and you close your eyes, drinking them in. They are soon shattered by the only voice that could terrify you more that you possibly are.

"What have we here?" A high, cold voice asks.

Your eyes snap open and you see Voldemort descending down the staircase, Naigini twisting around his shoulders, her forked tongue flickering out of her mouth. You shudder and close your eyes, too scared to watch what's about to happen next.

"We found 'em in Smith's Forge Valley," Bellatrix says eagerly. She waves her wand and Draco's body falls to the floor with a crash. You whimper. Voldemort reaches the bottom of the staircase and swoops down on you, breathing in deeply.

"We've missed you, Celia," Voldemort whispers in a dangerous, silky voice. "We miss our family…"

You feel your legs shake so hard you're surprised you don't fall over. He turns his gaze onto Draco's body.

"Well well well…" he says. "And Draco too. How very surprising. You see, Celia, I was under the impression I killed the little scumbag months and months ago."

You shake your head and look down at your feet, willing yourself not to speak, cry, or piss yourself in fear.

"Not a word to say?" Voldemort asks, returning to your side. He grips your shoulder with his white hand, and you feel yourself recoil. At once, his voice changes to a much angrier tone. "Bella. You know what to do."

Bellatrix nods and grabs your shoulders, steering you towards the sitting room, Greyback and Voldemort following in her wake. Bellatrix kicks open the doors, and then shoves you into the room, so hard that you fall to the ground. You quickly scoot backwards, trying to avoid the three of them.

Voldemort rolls up his sleeves and begins to speak, all while taking out his wand from his pocket.

"I've been so worried about you Celia. I thought one of my own had fallen at the hand of one of the Order. But it seems that is not so."

"You knew I hadn't," you suddenly explode, adrenaline running through your veins. "You had me painted as a criminal."

"Shut up!" Bellatrix screams, spit flying from her teeth and you coil up into a small ball. At once, Voldemort raises his wand and brings it down like a butcher knife, slicing through the air. Your body is suddenly on fire. It feels as if someone is shoving white-hot needles into your every pore, as if your bones are being roasted and as if someone is tearing off your flesh. You let out a howl and scream, your eyes leaking tears that you cannot feel rushing down your cheeks. In the background, you hear Bellatrix laugh. And then the pain stops.

"Would you like it to stop?" Voldemort asks in a silky voice. "Would you like all of it to just…stop?" You shake your head and think of Draco. You're not about to die, not yet.

Voldemort brings down his wand again, and you feel the pain all over again, so terribly that you arch your back. You can feel your eyes popping and your hands curl up tightly, the fingers straining. The pain stops once more and you turn over onto your side, panting.

"This is what the head of the family must do," Voldemort says, standing over you, glaring down at you through those pitiless red eyes. You can hear Draco begin to yell from another room, and you begin to cry. "The father must punish the disobedient children," Voldemort says with a nasty grin. He raises his wand in the air and swings it over his head. Instead of feeling the same pain, it feels as if someone is hitting your body with a baseball bat. Each joint, each organ is being beaten, punched by a large, invisible fist. You cough and turn over, spitting out blood. All the while, you can hear Draco roaring in the other room, and you begin to sniffle and cry.

"Stop it!" You scream when he yells again. "Stop hurting him. Hurt me instead. I…I want to be hurt."

"You want to be hurt?" Voldemort asks, raising an eyebrow. You swallow and nod. He raises a hand and flexes his fingers, beckoning Bellatrix forward. Voldemort whispers into her ear, and Bellatrix lets out a low, soft, terrifying laugh. Voldemort's eyes burn, and you curl up on the spot, too scared to say a word. Bellatrix runs from the room and returns a few minutes later, pushing Draco forward at arm's length, her clawed fingers curled around the back of his collar. He raises his eyes to meet yours and you let out a small whining noise under your breath, expressing everything you can't say in front of the others. "Mr. Malfoy," Voldemort greets him in a low, dangerous tone. "Your confidante here tells me she is willing to sacrifice herself so you won't be in pain."

Draco snaps his eyes away from Voldemort and looks at you. He shakes his head, his eyes wide. Voldemort turns his dead stare onto you. "So. You are going to give her the pain she so desires. The pain that was being inflicted on you…it's her turn now. And you will do the honors."

Bellatrix's laugh echoes around the room once more, and she shoves Draco's wand into his hand.

"Go on, Draco," the death eaters urge hungrily, egging him on.

"No," Draco says firmly.

"No?" Voldemort repeats. No one is laughing or jeering now. Draco turns around, so his back faces you, and throws his wand across the room, so it hits wall opposite and rolls onto the ground with a clatter. The Death Eaters are quiet and look from Voldemort to Draco, as you sit in a heap on the floor, panting slightly from the pain, and watching the two of them.

"The girl, Bella." Voldemort turns his head away from Draco and looks to Rookwood. "Take the boy to the basement."

You get onto your feet and duck away from Bellatrix. You run to Draco and throw your arms around his shoulders, shaking with fear and letting out small sobs. He wraps his arms around your waist, and almost immediately, hands begin to pull the two of you apart.

"No," you scream as Avery and Rookwood begin to drag him away. Draco fights so hard that Greyback has to pitch in and help contain him as well. Bellatrix seizes your arms and pins them behind your back as you kick up your legs, fighting to get to him. Draco manages to get an arm loose and punches Rookwood in the chin, who staggers backwards, throwing his hands up.

"Bella," Voldemort says in a tired voice as you begin to sob in earnest. "Quiet her." Bellatrix brings her wand to your throat, and you feel your pipes straining for a moment. And then, nothing.

You're left alone, in a room with the two most evil wizards in the world, and no voice to plead your case.


	50. Chapter 50

~Year: 2011

The walls seemed to be closing in as Bellatrix moved towards you. Her height seemed to stretch to the ceiling, and the hand in which she held her wand appeared large, magnified by the horror which she could do. You felt like sinking through the floor and into the ground, but that wasn't an option at this point.

"Bella," Voldemort said in a lazy tone. Bellatrix looked at him, her chest heaving, her tongue flickering through her teeth with excitement. Voldemort's red eyes seemed to burn through your skin. "Do what you do best." Voldemort wheeled around on his heel and left the room smoothly, not bothering to close the door behind him.

And there it was, your opportunity. All you had to do was run through the door, grab Draco and apparate. You could find shelter. You would go back to Spain and you would be safe. It didn't matter how unhappy you were. Your safety was what mattered most. You glanced at Bellatrix, who was smiling unpleasantly down at you, twisting her wand around her fingers. You tensed for a moment, and then shot off the ground, wiping the smile from Bellatrix's face. You pushed past her and began to run, sprinting for the open door, but then…

Fenrir Greyback stepped in front of the doorway; his hands clasped together, his teeth barred. Horrified, you reeled backwards. The creaks of the floor told you that Bellatrix was approaching, and for the first time, you tried to apparate on the spot.

There was a bang, and then you felt something squeezing your windpipe, cutting off your air supply. And yet, you hadn't apparated.

"No, no, no, Celia. We don't do that here." Bellatrix had grabbed you by the throat as Greyback stepped in the room, his steel-toed boots making loud banging noises on the wooden planks of flooring. You tried to squeal, but you had no air and your throat constricted. You raised your hands weakly and tried to prize her hands off, but Bellatrix just tightened her grasp. The pain was excruciating now, and then Bellatrix laughed loudly and threw you away from her. You stumbled back, your hands going to your throat, and fell into the opposite wall. Weak, tired, and defenseless, you sunk to the ground.

"Please," you deplored her. "I'm sorry. I am. But I've known you my whole life, Bella. Don't hurt me." You quivered as she suddenly looked at you, her eyes popping maddeningly.

"Don't hurt you?" She cooed in an awful fake-baby voice. "Is the wittle girl scared?" Bellatrix suddenly pointed her wand at you, and you felt your body flip over, so that your back was pinned to the floor, your arms outstretched. Bellatrix suddenly hovered over you, and pulled the short, silver blade knife from her pocket. Lovingly, she caressed the blade, and you couldn't help it. You began to cry.

Was this how you were going to die? You didn't get to tell Draco you were sorry, that you loved him. You got him into this mess and you were in capable to get him out of it.

If the prospect of dying wasn't terrifying enough, you were petrified by the prospect of having your throat ripped open with the same blade that had killed your parent's murderer. Your blood mixed with his on the blade…your soul being taken the same way his had. Your legs began to flail at the thought, nearly kicking Bellatrix in the stomach.

"No!" She roared as you began to shake your head back and forth as tears dripped from the corners of your eyes. Bellatrix kneeled down by your side and yanked up your right sleeve as you continued to struggle.

Fenrir let out a low growl under his breath.

"Tell me what you were doing in the forest," Bellatrix demanded, holding the knife above your arm.

"Camping," you say truthfully, your voice shaking. "There was a tent there!" The knife came down closer to your skin and you began to scream in protest. "There was, you can look, the tent will still be there." Bellatrix wrinkled her nose and then slowly stuck the end of the blade into your underarm. The pain was worse than you had imagined, and it worsened as she stuck the blade in further, bathing your arm and the blade in blood. Bellatrix began to cut through the skin, forming a symbol. You let out a howl like a wounded animal, and in the next room, you could hear Draco shout your name. There was a bang and then silence. You sobbed and flailed, but Bellatrix continued to carve.

"Now," she said, panting as she sat up on her knees. "Are you going to tell me what you were really doing there?"

You didn't answer, but looked at the knife in her hand, which was dripping a small puddle of blood onto the floor. Bellatrix widened her eyes.

"We were camping," you beg, tearing your eyes away from the knife. "Please. We were."

Bellatrix plunged the knife into your skin again, tearing apart your atoms so violently that your hair stood on end. You arched your back and wailed as she moved the knife deep within your arm, but it didn't seem to deter her from her line of work.

"Tell me now?" She asked once more, sitting up.

"PLEASE!" You screeched, crying heavily, each letter punctuated with a gasp. "I'M NOT LYING." Bellatrix arched an eyebrow and lowered the blade into your arm once more. This continued for five more questions, until, finally, mercifully, Bellatrix rocked up onto her feet. She looked down at your arm, laughed, and then tossed her knife in the corner, splattering the wallpaper with flecks of your blood.

"Get the Dark Lord," she commanded of Fenrir, who grunted and opened the doors.

"Ah, Bella," you heard Voldemort say when the doors opened. "Any progress?"

"None, My Lord," Bellatrix spat. "The girl was tight-lipped." Voldemort came to your side and glanced down at your arm, his eyes moving rapidly.

"The boy…" Voldemort began, and you closed your eyes, as if that could block news of him from your ears. "The boy wasn't as tight-lipped."

Your eyes snapped open. Voldemort let out a small breath as he looked down at your arm.

"Capturing Harry Potter," he mused under his breath. "An excuse to leave my side, of course. But the intentions were honorable…of course, Mr. Malfoy and Miss Validus would have been honored beyond their dreams if they had brought Potter to me."

"My Lord," Bellatrix began in a hoarse whisper. "My Lord, are you sure of this?"

"I used Legimacy, do you not believe in me? Do you think the boy has hoodwinked me?"

"No, My Lord. Never, My Lord."

Voldemort swept down on you, so that you could smell his rotten breath. His eyes locked on yours and you wiped your mind blank, desperate for him not to see what would ruin you…and then, miraculously, he looked away. Voldemort picked up your arm, the one on which Bellatrix had used her knife. He made a soft tsk-ing noise in the back of his throat, and then pressed his finger over one of the cuts she had made. Your skin burned and your arm pulsated in a smooth, sick motion. You refused to show your weakness in front of him, and you bit down on your lip, refusing to let yourself cry out. Voldemort threw your arm away from him and stood.

"My Lord," a voice said, and you curled up on your side, shaking. "The boy has let something slip." In the next room, you could hear Draco pleading with someone.

"Please don't," he told them. "She doesn't know anything." There was some whispering, and then Voldemort appeared back in your line of sight.

"Where is Potter?" He demanded.

"P-Potter?" You stuttered. Voldemort grabbed your chin so you were unable to look away. He drew his wand from his pocket and held it under your jaw.

"Potter." He repeated.

"I don't know," you managed to say in an even tone. And then, you felt something twitch in your brain. It was if Voldemort was prodding around in your brain, flipping through files. Finally, he released you and threw you back to the ground. "She knows nothing," he declared. In the next room, you could hear Draco exclaim angrily at one of the other Death Eaters. "Take them down to the Cellar," Voldemort ordered. "The both of them. Separate them."

"But…My Lord," you heard Fenrir plead.

"No," Voldemort said sharply. "They may be the key to Potter."

Someone grabbed you by the arm and yanked you up sharply. You kept your eyes closed as they dragged you along, your legs limper then that of a rag-doll's. They walked for a few minutes before stopping. There was a sound of metal scraping against metal, and then a door swung open in front of your face, the air pushing against your skin.

"Come on," Bellatrix said roughly. She grabbed your shoulder, her nails digging into your skin and pushed you down the stairs, impatiently stepping on the back of your heels.

The cellar was not as it had been. When you were younger, it was a place where Lucius kept some of his belongings, dark artifacts he could not keep out in the opening. It was where you and Draco would hide from your parents, where you would sometimes play hide and go-seek or play on your toy brooms. But now, there were individual jail cells that lined the room. They were all empty, though in one, you spotted a skeleton and you shuddered. Bellatrix unlocked one of the cells with a tap of her wand, and the door swung open. She shoved you roughly inside and shut the door with a clang.

"I hope the rats don't bite," she said with a nasty snicker. You shivered and closed your arms around your knees as she left. You began to rock back and forth anxiously.

"I'm going, I'm going," a voice said, suddenly interrupting your mantra. You glanced towards the top of the staircase, and Draco was just visible walking down the stairs. He yanked his arm loose from Greyback's grasp and marched into the cellar, his eyes moving quickly around the room. You moved to the front of the bars and hung onto them, watching him. Draco wiped a trickle of blood from a side of his swollen eye, and nodded discreetly to you.

"In here," Fenrir hissed, opening the cell next to yours. Draco stepped inside the confined space and Fenrir shut the door and locked it behind him. Without a backwards look, he headed up the stairs and closed the cellar door behind him. The deadbolt slid into place.

"Oh Draco," you murmured, launching yourself to the other side of your cell, sticking your arms through the bars. He moved closer to yours and grabbed onto your hands.

"You're alright," he marveled. Draco stuck his hands through to your side, seized chin and pulled it towards him so he could kiss you. Lovingly, you held onto his shoulders, keeping him closer to you.

"How did you pull it off?" You ask him as he pulled away. "The legimiacy he preformed…surely it was strong?"

"He didn't know I was trained," Draco said with a small shrug. "I was able to hide things."

That's when it hits you like a freight train. Your father's diary, still sitting in the tent.

"Oh no," you said, your voice trailing off. "My father's diary. They're going to find it! They're going to know! Draco, we're going to be-"

Draco wasn't listening, but rather, pulled something from his sock. Your father's diary, covered in sweat, but still intact.

"I hid it," he said rather proudly. "After we argued, I had a feeling of what you might do. I felt angry and like I might leave, so I stuffed the diary in my sock. I didn't want to help you go to Potter, I didn't want to help him, so I hid your father's diary in case you decided to join up with him."

"As much as I want to be mad at you for saying that, I can't," you tell him with a small smile. "That's amazing. Really, Draco. You saved our lives. Incredibly selfish and big-headed, but clever."

Draco shrugged and leaned against the bars. He looked out one of the ground-level windows, through which moonlight began to flood through.

"I know you," he retorted.

"Come here," you say. You reach through the bars and kiss him one last time, and then curl up on the ground, your fingers reaching through the bars to touch his. Visible in the moonlight are the words that Bellatrix carved in your arm.

_Traitor._

As you watched, the letters dripped a small trickle of blood.


	51. Chapter 51

~Year: 2011

The next day, after many anxious hours laying on the concrete ground, awaiting your fate, the door to the cellar opened. You perked up slightly, your mouth dry with hunger and your arm gave a painful throb. You slapped your hand over the open wound and Draco sat up as well, his eyes slightly unfocused and his hair sticking up.

Heavy footsteps came quickly down the stairs, and then Lucius was visible in the room, his face serious.

"Dad," Draco said, clinging to the bars. Lucius looked away from him, and unless it was your imagination, his blue eyes sparkled with tears. Lucius quietly took a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked Draco's cell. Draco stood and walked out of his cell quietly ad Lucius turned to unlock your cell. His hands shake lightly as they remove the key, and Lucius avoids eye contact. When he opens the door to your cell, he turns away without a word and begins to make his way up the stairs. "Dad?" Draco asks quietly.

"Why did you come back?" Lucius answers angrily, not bothering to turn around.

"Wha-" Draco begins to ask.

"Why?" Lucius interrupts harshly, turning away. His eyes are bloodshot and his jaw is set, just as Draco's does when he wants to be defiant.

"We had to do something. There's people being killed everywhere. We needed to come back, make sure that everyone was safe."

"No you didn't!" Lucius explodes. "You should have stayed where you were supposed to. It was stupid to come back. So incredibly stupid, for the reasons you just mentioned. You could have been murdered, I don't doubt the Dark Lord will kill you now…"

"We're too valuable," Draco suddenly retorted, firing up. You quietly placed a hand on his arm, but he flew into a rage, shaking his arm free and pointing a finger at his father. "Where the hell are your morals? It's sick. I thought this was something to believe in, but now that's I've seen who's behind it and what they're capable of," Draco trails off and shakes his head. "I thought you would change your views by now."

"The only safety I'm concerned with is my family's," Lucius says crisply. "Not that matters to the two of you." He sweeps his eyes over you and you shrink back, intimidated. You've never seen him this angry. "How could you risk it?" He asks, his eyes boring into yours, and you freeze. Draco glares at his father and wraps an arm around your shoulders. Lucius looks at Draco's arm, which is clamped tightly around your shoulders, a sign of his loyalty, and scoffs.

"The Dark Lord is waiting," he says quietly, and someone on the floor above calls out his name.

"In case you forgot, we're your family too," Draco calls out after him, pointing a finger at his back. Lucius pauses on the stop stair, and after a few seconds, opens the door to the cellar and leaves. Draco is shaking with anger, so you gently slip your hand into his and begin to tug him up the stairs, letting him fume silently. As soon as you step out of the cellar, death eaters flank you. Avery and Rookwood stand on either side of you and Draco. Bellatrix stands outside of the parlor, her hands laced together. At the sight of you, a slight smirk crosses her mouth.

"How's your arm feeling?" She asks in a horrible, mocking tone. Draco makes a sudden movement towards her, as if he was about to hit her. Unless it was your imagination, a flicker of panic crossed her hollowed face, but as Avery grabbed Draco and yanked him back, her smirk re-appeared. She slid open the door and Rookwood pushed you through it. Avery shoved Draco forward, a hand clasping the back of his neck, so that Draco's head was bowed, like he was put in a yoke like a common animal.

The Dark Lord was sitting in a high-backed green chair. His red eyes were shut, and Naigini was wound around his shoulders, like a disgusting stole. When you and Draco stepped forward, your heads bowed obediently, his eyes snapped open. You felt a drop of sweat roll down your back, from your hairline down your spine. Voldemort touched the tips of his fingers together, flexing his hands the slightest bit.

"You would think," he began in a slow, velvety voice. "That the two of you would be dead now. I would dispose of you, after all the trouble you have cost me. However, I need more people with your strength and talent. Let's try this again, hmm? You've failed me once, don't do it again. I am not a patient or forgiving man."

"M-My Lord?" Draco asked in a disbelieving tone.

"You will be sent back to Hogwarts," Voldemort said, without acknowledging him. "I need more eyes and ears there." Behind you, you could hear Bellatrix making slight puttering noises, voicing her disapproval. "You will be under the eyes of Snape and the Carrows. I expect you to follow their orders." Voldemort's eyes focused on your face and you looked down at the ground to keep from recoiling. "All of them."

"My Lord," another voice said. And this time, you recognized Lucius's voice. "I thank you, my gracious Lord."

"Enough," Voldemort said, cutting across his dialogue by holding up a long-fingered hand. "They will go back today. Their belongings are in their rooms, yes?"

Both you and Draco nodded mutely, still surprised by this turn of events. You were so shocked you could hardly form a coherent thought.

"Pack them," Voldemort murmured. "Send them off on the Knight Bus. Avery," he said suddenly, looking to his right. "You will escort them. You too, Bella."

You heard Bellatrix make a small noise in her voice, maybe a snarl or growl. But then there was a chime of: "Yes, My Lord."

"Good," Voldemort said. You and Draco turned to go, but he let out a small cough, and you turned to look back at him. "Miss Validus," he said. "Do remember this. Contact with Potter is extremely valuable. I am told that you were once…an acquaintance of his?" Draco fidgets a bit.

"You could say that," you reply stiffly.

"If Potter gives you any contact, you will contact me," Voldemort says, nodding to your left arm. "Your wand will do." His red eyes burn dangerously. "Potter is the key. All will be forgiven if you give me Potter."

You swallow and nod.

"Go," Voldemort commands, and you and Draco scurry from the room like two mice. You dash up the familiar set of stairs and the two of you run into his room, closing the door and locking it behind you.

"We're okay," you marvel, throwing your arms around him. Draco lets out a small, relieved laugh, and closes his arms around your waist, lifting you off the ground. Neither of you notice the slight figure which sits on the bed until they speak.

"Draco. Celia." The two of you hastily break apart and turn to see Narcissa, teary-eyed, sitting at the end of the bed.

"Mum," Draco says. He steps over to her and leans down to hug her, encompassing her frail shoulders in his embrace. Over his shoulder, Narcissa nods to you and hesitantly step over to her. When Draco releases her, you lean down to hug her. She's skinnier than usual, but she smells the same, her hair is as glossy as ever, and she hugs you just as she always has.

"Thank God you're alive," Narcissa says, reaching out to touch your cheek as you pull away. Draco smiles gratefully at his mother, who's reaction is opposite of Lucius's cold greeting.

"We're going back to Hogwarts," Draco tells Narcissa, smiling widely.

"Thank God," Narcissa says shakily, pressing her palms to her cheeks. "I was so worried. I just found out this morning…" her eyes fill with tears. "That the two of you were here." The tears spill down her cheeks. "I could hear screaming last night, but I thought it was just in my nightmares." She sniffles and looks directly at you. "You were screaming, weren't you?"

You glance at Draco, who nods just a fraction and then you nod and pull up your right sleeve. The words carved in your skin are swollen and crusted over now, the dried blood smearing into your pores. Narcissa lets out a small hiss and closes her eyes.

"It's so wrong," she says in a deadpan tone. "Everything is wrong now." She sniffles and stands up, smoothing the comforter with her shaking hands. She doesn't look at you or Draco when she says: "Everything used to be so sure." Narcissa sighs and attempts to smile bravely. From her pocket, she draws out her wand. She waves it once, and Draco's trunk slides out from the corner, the top flips open, and his drawers slide open so that his clothes can fly out, fold themselves neatly, and stack themselves into the trunk. She waves her wand again, and faintly, you can hear your own trunk doing the same down the hall.

There's a shout from down the stairs.

"Malfoy, Validus!" Avery barks. "The bus is here. Get going!"

Narcissa looks as if she might weep again.

"I only saw you for a few moments," she says, and she holds out her arms. Both you and Draco walk into them at the same time, and she holds you both tightly, nearly knocking your heads together. "Take care of each other, okay?"

You nod wordlessly, and Draco says:

"Yes, Mum." Narcissa kisses each of you on the cheek, and then releases you. She wipes her tears and quietly leaves the room, leaving you and Draco alone.

Thirty minutes later, the Knight Bus has arrived outside of Hogwarts, thanks to Bellatrix "persuading" the driver (by showing him her dark mark).

"I'm to walk you up to the castle," Bellatrix says harshly, kicking your trunk off the bus. Avery grabs your arm and pulls you down the stairs, and the other passengers whisper and stare as you stumble onto the gravel pathway that leads to the front gates of the school.

"It's quite alright, Bella," a slow drawl says, and immediately, Avery releases your arm. Snape is standing at the front gates, his arms crossed. "I can take it from here."

"But Snape," Bellatrix protests angrily as Draco lugs his trunk off the bus under Avery's hawk-like watch. "The Dark Lord-"

"The Dark Lord trusts me," Snape says in his slow, emotionless voice. He raises one thin eyebrow. "Perhaps more than you, Bella?"

Bellatrix glowers, and her hair stands on end, like a rabid dog.

"I would never-" she begins.

"I am a trusted advisor," Snape says tartly. "And the headmaster of this school. And I will not allow you to step foot on these grounds."

Bellatrix hisses under her breath, but you quickly move towards Snape, preferring his company to hers. Draco follows without a second look at his aunt.

"That's what I thought," Snape says smugly, pushing open the gates to allow you and Draco to enter. He closes them behind the three of you and taps them with his wand. A blue light rushes through the iron, and through the bars, Bellatrix makes a face at Snape, her once-pretty features contorted into a mask of hate. Snape beckons Avery over to the gate and begins to whisper to him, and you notice that you can't see Draco. You turn to see him a few yards away, already on the path to the castle. You walk to his side and silently stand with him. It's twilight now, and the castle is bathed in a rosy glow that glimmers on the dusting of snow on the ground.

"It's good to be back," Draco says.

"It's almost like we never left," you agree.

You lean your head on his shoulder, and it seems as if the world is at peace, that the last few months haven't even happened, and your life is far more normal and uncomplicated then it has ever been.


	52. Chapter 52

~Year: 2011

Your dorm room looked exactly the same. There were the same four beds, the same green bedspreads, the marble fireplace was lined with candles and the chandelier that hung into the middle of the room was shining brightly. You set down your trunk at the edge of your bed, which was wrinkle-free and pillow-less. Exhausted, but relieved at the same time, you sat down at the edge of your bed and placed your face in your hands. At that moment, the door to the dorm swung open.

"But then Theodore said…" a familiar voice yapped on, and then stopped. "Oh my god." You looked up to the door to see Pansy and Daphne standing in the doorway. Daphne's mouth was hanging open, and Pansy's eyes were wide, as if she was seeing a ghost.

"Oh my _God!_" They both screamed in unison. They rushed upon you, throwing their arms around you in a hug that knocked you flat on your back.

"Oh, Hi," you say meekly, as they squealed, still hugging you. You couldn't help but feel your heart burst at the sight of them. It had been so long since you had seen them, seen someone other than Draco.

"You're back!" Pansy said, finally pulling away. She smoothed back her short brown hair and pushed back her bangs.

"Way to state the obvious," Daphne told her. Daphne's grey eyes sparkled as she sat down next to you. "So where were you? Did you run off somewhere? Where's Draco? Did he go with? Did you two tie the knot or something? Wait a second…I haven't seen you in months…did you give up a baby or something?"

"Someone's a little too excited," Pansy said, raising an eyebrow.

"I've been listening to dramas on the wireless," Daphne admitted. "But seriously, where were you?"

Your stomach knots at this. You don't know what to say, you're not sure you want to tell the truth. You've lied so much already, but what more harm could one more lie bring? You look at their eager faces and feel your words die in your throat.

"I-" you begin. Thankfully, a voice interrupts.

"Celia?" Draco is looking around the door.

"Draco," Daphne says, blinking rapidly. "You're here too. You both arrived at the same time?"

"Yes," you tell her. "We just missed dinner."

Pansy doesn't say a word, but looks from you to Draco.

"Celia, I'm sorry, but the Carrows need to speak with us."

"Already?" Daphne panics, her eyes growing wide. "You couldn't have already done something wrong, could you?"

"What?" You demand, turning to look at her. "What do you mean?"

Daphne shivered slightly and turned her face, so that her profile was visible to you. On the side of her neck was a purple bruise.

"Teachers send you to the Carrows if you get in trouble. It's how I got this," Daphne gestured to the bruise on her neck. "Alecto asked me what the dirtiest creatures on earth were. I didn't say muggle borns, though I expect that's what they wanted to hear…" Pansy quietly places a hand on Daphne's shoulder, and she snaps out of her vacant glazed over gaze.

"Well," Draco said, breaking the silence. "I don't think that's what they want to speak with us about. We just got in."

"What could they possibly have to say to you?" Pansy asked. And though you were silent, you wondered the same thing.

"I'll be right back," you say to Pansy and Daphne. You tap each of them on the shoulder, a reassurance, as you join Draco. You close the door quietly behind you and Draco suddenly seizes your waist and pulls you tightly against him, kissing you deeply.

"I don't object," you say, slightly breathless as he releases you. "But what was that about?"

"I'm just a bit giddy at the moment," Draco replied with a mischievous grin. "We're back at Hogwarts."

"It's going to be different," you remind him. "We're under watch still."

"Don't you see?" Draco replied with a shake of his head. "We're under watch. But not his. Not strict surveillance, since we're Slytherins. Celia, this is the freest I've felt in months."

You smile at his boyish energy and allow him to kiss you again.

"Come on," you say, ducking out from under his arm. "We have to go see the Carrows."

"That we do," Draco agreed, taking your hand. You smiled up at his profile, so happy to see him behave normally once more.

The Carrows were waiting in Snape's old office. The room was now devoid of the potion bottle and supplies that once lined the shelves. A large portrait of a man with a long, droopy mustache now sat over the desk. Both Alecto and Amycus were sitting behind the polished desk, their hands folded.

"Sit," they chimed at the same time in their nasal voices as you entered the room. Draco quietly shut the door behind him and you nervously took a seat at the bench before the two of them. Draco sat down a few seconds later. There was a few seconds of silences as the Carrows surveyed the two of you, their beady eyes sweeping across your faces.

"The Dark Lord wishes us to keep an eye on the two of you," Alecto said with a nasty tone.

"He also wishes we put you to work." Amycus's mouth twitched up into a leer.

"Put us to work?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Alecto replied firmly. She smiled, showing off her stumpy but sharp eyeteeth. "We have jobs for the two of you." The twins leaned forward, their eyes gleaming with the unknown prospect they were about to introduce to you. "We're in charge of punishment. And you two are going to help us punish those who act out against us."

"Us?" Draco asked in a derisive tone.

"The regime," Alecto spat impatiently. "You brute. Follow us. We're going to show you how to do this."

Alecto and Amycus lead you from the office, down the narrow hallways, to another room far in the dungeon. Outside the room there was a bench, on which Millicent Bulstrode and Crabbe sat. Both looked surprised to see you and Draco, but neither said a word.

"You're done," Alecto told them, and they hurried away. Alecto and Amycus pushed open the doors to the classroom. At the front of the class was Snape, sitting calmly at a table, writing on a long piece of parchment. A group of nervous students stood before him, lined up in a single-file line. Many looked like they were maybe first or second years and their cheeks were stained with tear tracks.

"Snape," Amycus and Alecto said, inclining their heads. You tensed up and looked around the windowless room. There were no chairs, no windows, and hardly any lights. The only light came from a torch mounted behind Snape's desk and two more on either side of the door. The children were quivering, and a few were sweating profusely.

"Alecto, Amycus," Snape replied in greeting, not looking at you or Draco. He looked down his hooked nose at the paper he was writing on and crossed out a few words with relish.

"This is where you will be punishing other students," Amycus said aloud. Immediately, the other students all turned to look at you. Some glared, but most looked at you with wide, terrified eyes that begged you to be kind. You swallowed deeply.

"Discipline is always enforced," Alecto said.

"What do we have to do?" Draco asked in a deadpan voice, avoiding looking at the younger students.

"Let me show you," Amycus said. He stepped away from his sister and pointed at the first kid in line. A small, lanky boy, with red hair and big brown eyes. "You. Name?"

"Walt Bowland," the boy whimpered.

"House?"

"Hufflepuff, Sir."

"Why were you sent here, boy?"

Walt quivered so badly you thought he might pee his pants. Snape lazily looked up from his work.

"He refused to go to Muggle Studies today, Amycus."

"That's right," Alecto suddenly piped up, jutting her chin forward. "This little brat refused to accept my teachings. Stand aside, dear brother, I must do this myself."

Alecto suddenly raised her wand. You felt an invisible force move by you, like a gust of wind, and then a loud crunch sounded out. Walt stumbled back, holding the side of his face. His cheek was bruised a deep red. "How dare you?" Alecto called out as he winced. She raised her wand again, and this time, the spell hit him in the stomach, and he doubled over, clutching his gut.

"Stop," you said shakily, watching Walt's knees begin to wobble dangerously.

Amycus and Alecto turn to look at you, nasty grins mirrored on their dull, wide faces.

"Would you like a turn?" Alecto asked, beckoning you forward.

"No," you said shakily. Draco widened his eyes at you, but said nothing.

"You will take your turn," Amycus hissed, raising her wand and directing it at you. At once, your mind became clear, as if someone had erased the whiteboard of your mind's eye. Two competing voices begin to battle inside your mind.

_Go on, _one urged. _You need to do this. Just get it over with quickly. You can't screw up again. You need to appear loyal._

_No! _The other voice cut in. _Look at the kid. You can't. You just can't. He's so young. Think about you when you were that young._

You shook your head violently, but the voice that urged you to punish the boy became stronger and louder. It yelled over the other voice, until finally, you couldn't take it anymore.

"Rictumsempra," you spat, directing your wand at the kid. Walt coughed and doubled over, wheezing deeply. The other kids in line closed their eyes, as if also in pain. Draco stared at you, his eyes wide. Amycus let out a low laugh.

"Good," Alecto said. "Good. You can leave now. But tomorrow at eight, be in this room. It will be your responsibility to take care of all the punishment."

You turned to go, refusing to look at anyone, your insides brewing guiltily.

"But-" Alecto continued as you wiped your forehead. "Don't try anything. Either of you. People will be watching."

You couldn't help but feel that there were more implications in that sentence than originally intended. You looked down at your feet as you exited the room, too ashamed to look at any of the other students, too scared to look at the Death Eaters.

Quietly, you could hear Draco walking along next to you, but thankfully, he didn't say a word until you reached the Slytherin common room. To your surprise, it was mercifully empty.

"It wasn't your choice," Draco said suddenly, breaking the silence. "The imperius curse is hard to break."

"I should be stronger," you told him, refusing to look him in the eyes. You felt so terrible about yourself. How could you even be worthy of love in someone's eyes? You were such a terrible person, someone who could inflict pain on another without any will to stop it.

"You are the strongest girl I've ever met," Draco said, taking your hand in his. He tipped your chin up so he could look in your eyes. "Just one of the strongest people I know, period. We all screw up Celia. We all have things we're ashamed of." Draco leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. You lean your forehead against his, your breath slightly ragged.

The excitement about being back at Hogwarts faded as quickly as it had come. You could see that Draco felt the same way, as his eyes were tinted with melancholy.

"Sit with me," you begged, sitting down on the leather couch. You pointed your wand at the fireplace, and flames burst up behind the grate. Draco impulsively sat down next to you, wrapping an arm casually around your shoulders. You curled up, placing your head on his chest.

You had only been sitting for a few minutes when something burst into the room. A silver stag, a seemingly familiar patronus. Draco immediately sat up straighter, glancing around the room.

It spoke in Harry's voice.

"Celia," it said. "I'm sorry I haven't responded to your patronus sooner. Hermione and I…we're safe. You-Know-Who nearly caught us, but we're okay now. I don't know if I should reveal my location to you…I trust you, but not whom you're with. Send me a patronus when you're alone. I need to make sure you're alright."

At once, the patronus faded into the shadows of the room and disappeared.

Draco spoke first. "You know how I said we all make mistakes? Here's your chance to right one." You nearly snapped your neck in your haste to look at him.

"I can't tell the Dark Lord," you told him.

"That's not what I was saying," Draco said softly, and you laid your head back down on his chest. "That's the opposite. You might be forced to do bad works under the eyes of the school, but you never have to tell them the good works you do. I won't tell anyone, and you sure as hell won't tell anyone who you're in contact with."

"I love you," you said sleepily. Draco kissed your temple and then you drifted off, curled up in the arms of the one you love.


	53. Chapter 53

~Year: 2011

Day after day was the same. Hogwarts no longer had the color and life it had once held. Your schedule consisted of getting up, eating breakfast, and going to your classes, and eating dinner, and then punishing the rebellious students. Hogwarts was almost like a living hell. A Death Eater or Ministry Official monitored every class, so the teachers were more tightly wound than usual. Muggle studies was now compulsory, so you had to sit for ninety minutes listening to a lecture on mudbloods and what filthy beasts they were. Students were lifeless and tentative, terrified of breaking any of the new rules that would land them a trip to the torture dungeon.

The life you were living began to slowly gnaw away at your soul, and you could tell that Draco felt the same. He grew paler by the day, and his eyes had a permanently glazed over look, as if he was trying to hide the world behind a curtain. He was no longer the strutting, preening boy you knew and loved, but a mere ghost of his former self, slight and worried.

You became different too, but the opposite of Draco. The violence you saw hardened you, made you angrier. You kept storing that anger inside, burying it deeper and deeper, hoping that it wouldn't explode all at once. You couldn't stand the life you were living, the people around you were careless and stupid, and Draco had started to worry you, but more than anything, he had begun to distance himself from you.

It became more apparent when Draco resisted you. After a long day of schoolwork, you had approached him in the common room. He was working on a Potions essay, but the parchment was blank.

"Hi," you said quietly, sitting down next to him on the couch. Goyle was in earshot, so you glared at him fiercely until he left. Draco mumbled a greeting and tapped his quill on the parchment. "Still working on your essay?"

"Yeah," he said in a monotone. "Obviously." You ignored his comment.

"I was going to get dinner," you hinted. When Draco didn't say anything, you piped up. "Do you want to come?"

"No," Draco said.

"Okay," you replied, feeling your ego take a punch. You leaned over to kiss him, but he had squirmed away, as if you were a mother embarrassing their child. You felt as if you had been slapped. When you got up to leave, Draco called after you. You turned around, somewhat hopeful, believing he might apologize.

"Remember we leave for break tomorrow," he said, staring straight at you. His eyes, however, did not look into you as they usually did, but just at you. He did not read you, he did not care.

You hated your life at Hogwarts. It was if someone had decided to create a Jackson Pollock painting of your life, which was just black paint slathered on more black paint, creating a solid curtain that blocked out emotion and cares.

By the time Easter break rolled around, you were relieved. You packed a small rucksack and left the dorm room after hastily wishing Pansy and Daphne "Happy Easter." When you closed the door behind you, you ran into Draco, who was clutching his own rucksack.

"I was just about to come get you," he said quietly, nodding to your door.

"I beat you to it," you replied, deadpan. Neither of you moved forward. Usually, it would have been customary for Draco to kiss you, or whisper something in your ear, or take your hand. But this time, he turned away from you and began to head down the stairs, not waiting for you. You followed silently, feeling the anger bubbling under your skin. The two of you walked through the empty common room, still separated by a few feet, and through the dungeon door. When Draco held it open for you, you didn't thank him. Instead, you walked ahead of him. However, when you reached the stairs that lead to the Great Hall, you stopped and turned around. Draco stumbled slightly to avoid stepping on your feet.

"What's wrong with you?" You asked him, feeling your anger begin to rise, like waves sloshing around the side of a boat. "What the _hell _is wrong with you?"

"Excuse me?" Draco asked, looking affronted.

"You heard me," you said, stomping your feet on the marble steps. The metal pieces in your shoes let out a clanging sound that echoed throughout the dungeon. "You aren't you anymore. I don't know who you are. You're not the person I fell in love with, the person I've known for almost eighteen years. What. Is. Wrong. With. You."

Draco took a step backwards, his eyebrows furrowing. His pasty complexion tinged a slight bit.

"What is wrong with you?" He asked defiantly, setting his jaw. "How can you look around this place and not be different? It's like you have no humanity anymore."

You felt your voice escalate to a yell. "I always felt like I would be okay if I had you with me. But you aren't you anymore! I feel like I'm drowning without the person I know."

"People change," Draco said quietly.

"You don't," you retort. "You're Draco fucking Malfoy, for chrissake. Where the fuck is he? I miss him like hell. This place hell without him." When Draco didn't reply right away, you wrinkled your nose. "Piss it. It doesn't matter." You drew in a deep breath and Draco studied you, those pale, glazed eyes taking you in. "I think…" you said quietly. "I think I don't love you anymore."

Draco suddenly snapped his head up, so he could look you straight in the eyes. But he didn't look angry or upset, his face was solemn. You knew the words weren't true, because you would always love him. How could you not love someone who was tied to your life in everyway possible? But Draco merely stared and didn't say word. He didn't protest or yell back. You stared back, snorted at his lack of action, and turned around. With a heavy heart, you climbed the stairs, and went up a few stairs to the Carrows office.

"Welcome, Celia," Amycus said, without looking up from a note she was dictating. Alecto walked over to the fireplace that graced the back wall of their office and pulled a small pot off the grate. "We've been expecting you. Where is Draco?"

"He's coming," you said quietly, scratching your arm with extra venom. "I'll go ahead."

Alecto stared curiously at you, but said nothing. Instead, she handing you the pot, which was filled with a thin, green powder. You dipped your fingers into the pot, scooped up some of the powder, and threw it into the fire. At once, it turned a blazing, emerald green, and let out a few, small pops. You stepped into the flame, feeling the warmth embrace you.

"Malfoy Manor," you said clearly, trying not to choke on the ashes. At once, the room began to turn, and Amycus and Alecto's faces whizzed from sight, as you zoomed by other fireplaces, catching brief glances into other homes, when at last, you arrived. You tumbled out into the fireplace in the Malfoy's kitchen. The house was empty, though it was nearly eight 'o clock. You hoisted your rucksack onto your shoulders and cautiously began to move around the kitchen, looking for a sign of life. On the fridge was a note in Narcissa's handwriting.

_Draco and Celia,_

_Lucius and I will be out tonight. There's an important function in London we can't afford to miss. We will be back by tomorrow morning._

You took the note off the fridge and placed it lightly on the counter. You opened the double doors to the parlor. The room was empty, and mustier than usual. However, you noticed a new side-table, lined with photographs. When you recognized they were all pictures of you and Draco, you began to cry a little. Your sobs racked your body and tears began to leak from your eyes. You threw your rucksack to the floor and began to wipe the scalding tears away.

"I lost myself for a while there, didn't I?" A voice suddenly said. You sniffed and turned to see Draco standing in the doorway. He shook his rucksack off his shoulder. "It was like I was just…I don't know, floating or something." He smirked. "Thank you. I needed to hear you yell at me. I think it brought something back."

"I wanted to slap you too," you admit, still trying to hide your tears.

Draco laughs, and crosses the floor to reach you. His eyes sparkle like they did when you were kids. His smirk is wide, and he looks at you with a rabid hunger you've seen before. You raise your hand to hit him on the shoulder, but he grabs your wrist.

"I love you," he tells you. He pulls your wrist closer to him, reeling you in. Draco leans down and crushes his lips against yours, wrapping his other arm around your waist. You haven't felt him kiss you like this, with so much passion, in months. You eagerly reply, throwing your arms around his neck, pulling his head in closer to yours.

"Are you going to give me a chance to say I love you too?" You ask, breaking away with a breathless grasp. Draco kisses his way down your neck, as if his lips can't bear to break contact with your skin.

"No," he says, bringing his lips up to yours again. He walks you backwards, pinning your back against the wall.

"Okay," you say, laughing as you pull your lips from his. "I believe you. Draco is back."

"'Course he is," Draco said. "I am. I'll be here for a long time, that I can guarantee."

The next morning, you awoke next to Draco. As your eyes flickered open, he stirred, throwing a naked arm around your shoulders.

"Morning," you said, leaning over to kiss his chest. Draco's eyes opened wide, and he pulled you closer.

"Hi," he said, leaning down to fuse his lips against yours. He rolled over you, pressing his naked chest against yours. In his lust, he nibbled at your lower lip. You laughed, and he looked up, smirking. "I take it we're all made up, then?"

"If last night wasn't clear enough," you said with a smile. "I really do love you. I didn't mean the things I said."

"Of course you did," Draco replied in a matter-of-fact tone. "But you were right. I was acting different." You nestle your head into his chest and close your eyes, letting the sunlight wash through the blinds illuminating your skin.

Lucius and Narcissa returned in the early afternoon. You and Draco had been sitting in the garden when a loud snap echoed out over the grounds. The two of you stood up at once, sending gravel flying. You reached into your pocket, grabbed your wand and held it out in front of you.

"Who's there?" Draco yelled out, holding his wand out too.

"Draco?" Narcissa's voice called out. You quickly lowered your wand as you and Draco wound your way out from behind the hedges. Narcissa and Lucius were standing outside the house. "Oh god," Narcissa said, running forward. She wrapped the two of you in her arms. "You're alright." You hugged her back, tucking your face into the thick folds of her robes. Lucius cleared his throat behind her, and the three of you pulled apart.

Draco raised an eyebrow at his father, who merely looked straight ahead.

"I'm glad," he said in a short tone. "That the two of you are in good health."

Draco nodded. Lucius turned and headed back into the house. Draco put an arm around your shoulders as you wrapped one around his waist and placed a hand on his stomach.

"Don't be angry with your father," Narcissa asked of Draco. "He blames himself for your capture, you know."

"Why would he do that?" Draco questioned, but Narcissa pretended not to hear him.

"Come on," she said, smiling tightly at the two of you. "You both look awfully pale. Let's get you something to eat, hmm?"

By seven 'o clock, your stomach was full. The house elves had prepared a full out Easter feast, complete with lamb and stew and dressings. Both you and Draco had drunk a full share of red wine, and you began to feel dozy as Draco helped you walk up the stairs. You had never been able to handle your alcohol well, and the red wine rushed to your head as he supported your arm.

"You're so strong," you marveled, running your hand up Draco's bicep. "The strongest…boy…ever."

"I like to hear it," Draco said with a smirk.

"Even though you always seemed so skinny," you blabbered on. "But you're muscular. That's so…weird."

"Come on Celia," Draco said, helping you up over the last stair.

"Come on Draco," you replied in a low voice. You yanked your arm free and opened the door to your room. "Come with me."

Draco let out a low laugh.

"No, seriously," you protested. "I want you to sleep with me." You winked. "With no sleeping."

"Celia, you're so drunk," Draco said, laughing a little as he helped walk you into your room. He closed the door behind you.

"No I'm not…maybe a little," you conceded.

"Here," Draco said, sitting you down on your bed. "I'll get your night clothes."

"I can just sleep naked," you said suggestively.

"As much as I wouldn't mind seeing that, I know you would get mad if you woke up with a hangover and no clothes," Draco replied, rummaging through your rucksack.

"I guess," you slurred, falling back onto your bed. You spread your arms out wide and ran your hands over the fabric. Draco threw a t-shirt onto the bed for you, but you picked it up and hurled it at his head. He picked it up and threw it back at you and you began to laugh. Draco laughed too, and grabbed your wrists.

"I win," he said, grabbing the t-shirt and putting it on the bed.

"I do," you replied, quickly wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him down on top of you.

"Tie," Draco bargained, kissing you.

"Stay," you whined when he broke away.

"I…"

"Draco!" Narcissa suddenly yelled up the stairs, her voice quavering and urgent. Draco quickly unraveled his arms from yours and pulled open the doors. You slid down to the floor, laughing slightly, still high on your red wine.

"Draco," you mumbled, spreading your limbs out on the carpet. "Come back." Still on your hands and knees, you crawled out of your room and down the hall, so you could see down the staircase. There was a commotion in the front hall. A group of people was crowded, and in the midst of them, you could see Draco. Lucius was by his side, his hand on his shoulder, whispering into his ear. You squinted, and then turned your head slightly left. In the middle of the crowd were Ron, Hermione and Harry. "Shit," you muttered, diving back into the hallway.

Your heart jumped into your throat, and it wasn't because of the alcohol. How had they caught them? You peeked back around the corner. Fenrir Greyback and Bellatrix were present, as well as a ruby sword Bellatrix clutched in her hand. At that moment, Fenrir and Wormtail, whom you had not noticed before, grabbed Harry and Ron and began to push them towards the stairs that lead down to the cellar. Bellatrix grabbed Hermione and pushed her into the dining room. Narcissa, Lucius, and Draco followed. The heavy doors swung shut behind them.

Though your brain was fuzzy from the alcohol, you had not lost your wit. Collecting yourself, you stood and slowly walked downstairs, jumping over the creaky boards in the hallway. When you reached the bottom of the staircase, heavy footsteps on the other staircase told you that Greyback and Wormtail were approaching. You quickly stowed yourself behind a column as they entered the dining room. As the door swung open, a terrible scream came from within, but it was quickly deafened as the door closed behind them. You scampered out from your hiding place and began to make your way down to the cellar, your wand in your hand.

"Hello?" You whispered loudly, reaching the bottom stair. "Harry? Ron?"

"Celia," a voice said, sounding relieved. Harry stepped out from behind the nearest wall, as did Ron, whose face was covered in tear tracks. Harry was barely recognizable. His hair was longer and shaggier than you had ever seen it, and the right side of his face was swollen, as if he had an allergic reaction. "What are you doing here?"

"They caught me and Draco," you whispered to him, as Ron began to pace back and forth. "How did they catch you?"

"Snatchers," Ron butted in anxiously.

"Can you help us escape?" Harry asked urgently, shaking at the bars.

"Possibly," you answered. "But the manor, that includes the grounds and everything, are-"

"Apparation proof," another voice supplied. From the shadows stepped Luna Lovegood, pale and breathing dreamily.

"Good god," you said, stepping back slightly. "Have you been here this whole time?"

"Since Christmas," Luna said. "Ollivander's been here longer though, since summer. And Dean's been here since November. Same with Griphook."

Harry, however, was not paying attention to this exchange. He was digging through a small pouch looped around his neck. From it he drew a shard of glass. He looked into it and said:

"We're at Malfoy Manor. Help!"

You watched as he tucked it back in the pouch. Suddenly, there were footsteps from overhead. Someone was approaching.

"Shit," you exclaimed. "I can't be here." Silently, you cast a disillusion charm upon yourself and sunk back against the wall, sucking in your stomach. But you had nothing to fear, because the person approaching was Draco. Quickly, you reversed the spell.

"Jesus Christ," he murmured as you appeared, jumping in the air. "Celia, you scared the shit out of me."

"Sorry," you said in a small voice. "Draco, you have to help. Please, you can't do anything."

"I'm not going to do anything," Draco said impatiently, unlocking the barred door. He beckoned into the room, and from the depths, a goblin emerged, weak on its feet. "Let's go," Draco said, pointing his wand at the goblin's back. "Celia, I told my parents you were upstairs. You should really go back up there."

"No," you said stubbornly, glaring at his retreating back. All Draco did was shrug his shoulders in reply.

"I never could boss you around," he replied as the door shut and locked. At the same time, there was a loud cracking noise in the cellar. A familiar someone had appeared.

"Dobby?" You and Harry said at the same time.

"Hello, Harry Potter, sir," Dobby said, nodding. "Miss Validus, you are here too."

"Dobby," Harry said, hurrying forward. "Can you take people out of the cellar?"

"Yes, Harry Potter sir," Dobby said, his ears flapping wildly. He held out his hands and Luna, Dean, and a frail old man you recognized as Ollivander, grabbed a hold of him.

"We'll wait for you, Harry," Luna said, and Dean nodded, though he gave you a suspicious glance.

"Go ahead," Harry urged. "Go on, we'll meet you."

"Go to Shell Cottage," Ron told Dobby. "The outskirts of Tinsworth."

Dobby nodded once more, and then apparated. The sound of the crack drew attention from overhead.

"What was that?" You heard Bellatrix say.

"Draco, go check it out. No, wait, Wormtail, you go." Lucius's voice echoed out over the steps. There was a bang and a small shriek of pain.

"Quick, Celia, inside," Harry said. You tapped the door with your wand and hurried inside, closing it and locking it behind you. Harry grabbed your arm and pulled you behind the wall. "Ready, Ron?"

Ron, who was on the opposite, nodded. The footsteps grew nearer, and you watched as Harry and Ron readied themselves, like tigers ready to pounce. When the door creaked open, they leapt. Harry grabbed Wormtail's wand arm, forcing it upwards, and Ron plucked the wand from his hand.

"Everything all right, Wormtail?" Lucius yelled.

"All fine," you yelled back wheezily, a perfect imitation of Wormtail. It was then when you realized Wormtail's other hand, which was grasped around Harry's neck. It was squeezing more tightly as Harry grew more desperate for air.

"No," Ron said, trying to prize off Wormtail's grip.

"Relashio," you said, pointing your wand at Wormtail. But his hand would not relent its iron (literally) grasp. Both you and Ron grasped at his hand, trying to pull it off Harry's neck.

"Are you going to kill me, Wormtail?" Harry asked. "You owe me…remember?" At once, Wormtail's eyes widened and he let go of Harry's neck. You grabbed Harry's shoulders and pulled him away from Wormtail as he collapsed, gasping, and Ron trained his wand upon him. Suddenly, Wormtail's hand drifted up to his neck, and then began to tighten, turning his face blue.

"No," all three of you said, trying to grab his arm and pull it away. But it was too late. Wormtail's hand was his downfall. After a few seconds, he rolled over on his side, a mere shell of a person. He was dead. Harry stared at the corpse for a moment before stepping over it. He and Ron climbed a few stairs, and hesitantly, you followed, unsure of what to do.

"Come with us," Harry suddenly said, turning to you as he reached the top stair.

"Are you mad?" Ron asked, raising his eyebrows at Harry.

You looked directly into Harry's eyes and felt your stomach knot. You knew it would be the right thing to do. A good thing to do. The wise thing to do.

"I can't leave Draco," you told him.

Harry's eyes dimmed the slightest bit.

"I know," he said softly. And before you could stop him, he strolled over and wrapped his arms around you, capturing you in a tight embrace. "You're a good person, Celia." And he pressed his lips to your cheek.

"Good luck," you whispered back, patting his shoulder.

Harry nodded, and turned away from you. You looked towards the dining room doors, and then began to head back towards the staircase, out of the way of danger. But then…everything suddenly went fuzzy and black. The last thing you remembered was the feel of the marble steps on your cheek, the pounding of your head, and distant screams. There was a hand on your arm, more yelling, and then nothing.


	54. Chapter 54

~Year: 2011

When you woke up, everything was golden. Everything shimmered and moved and fluttered, like the soft wings of a bird gliding on the wind. You blinked a few times, your eyes adjusting to the bright light. Faintly, you could hear the sound of the ocean and the cries of seagulls.

"Iz she awake?" A heavily French-accented voice asked anxiously. You blinked a few more times, trying to make out the shadows that loomed above you.

"Celia?" Someone asked. A pair of glasses floated into your view, and then a mop of dark hair. A pair of vibrant green eyes were visible, and then the outline of a face. Then, features began to bloom in front of you. "Celia, are you alright?"

"Harry?" You asked faintly. You shook your head. "Am I dreaming?"

"Sort of," Harry said. He looked away from your face for a moment, glanced to his side, and nodded. "Can you feel anything?"

You could feel the throb of your head, no doubt a hangover setting in from the night before. But then you remembered this was a dream, you couldn't have a hangover in a dream. Or could you?

"A hangover," you mumbled, and Harry tried to hide his smile.

"Anything else?" He asked. Harry pressed his fingers to your forehead, which was cool and clammy. As he asked, you shifted your leg a bit, and a sharp pain ran down your back. You cringed and your spine felt like it was on fire. You let out a small whimper of pain and a tear ran down your cheek. "Pain medicine," Harry barked at the person on his right, and you could feel someone running on the ground, away from you.

"This is a weird dream," you noted, anxiously memorizing the sky above you. There wasn't a cloud in sight, just the sun. Tall grasses rose on either side of you, and sand grains were rubbing against your exposed arms and shoulders.

"Celia." Harry paused and leaned back on his legs. "You're not dreaming."

You gave a small, delirious laugh. "Of course I am. I haven't seen you in months, since last July. I'm going to wake up in a few moments, possibly next to Draco, with a hangover. But I'll be smiling, I'm sure."

Harry just stared at you, his eyes serious. The footsteps returned. A beautiful, statuesque woman, who looked like she might've been vela, returned with a small vial of concentrated purple liquid.

"Haz she said anything?" The woman asked Harry, looking down at you, concern written over her face. You felt your stomach contract at the appearance of her. It startled you, her presence. You had never seen her before.

"Who are you?" You demanded, looking up at her, frowning the slightest bit.

"Celia," Harry said gently. He uncorked the vial she handed him, swirled the potion the slightest bit, and leaned over you. "Just…drink this. It will reveal everything. Okay?"

You felt your spine give another shock of pain, so you nodded quickly. You opened your mouth the slightest bit, and Harry poured the potion in your mouth, careful not to dribble any down your chin. At contact with your tongue, the pain in your spine subsided. However, that was the least of your worries. You realized, with a start, that you weren't dreaming. That this odd, surreal scene was actually happening.

"What's going on?" You asked of them, sitting up. Harry put a hand out to help steady you, but you pushed it away impatiently. "Where am I? Where is Draco?"

"Do you remember anything from last night?" Harry questioned.

You paused and closed your eyes. You remembered the Easter feast from the evening before and the rich red wine you had consumed. You remembered Draco walking you upstairs, the touch of his lips on yours…and then, nothing.

"No," you answered.

"We, I mean, Ron, Hermione and I…we were captured by snatchers. They brought us to Malfoy Manor, where you were. You came down to the cellar to see Ron and I, Celia. You were intoxicated, but you wanted to help. You even tried to get Malfoy to help us."

You held a hand up to your pounding skull.

"Dobby came to help us apparate…and you helped Ron and I defeat Wormtail. You brought us out of the cellar. When Ron and I stormed into the other room, to save Hermione, you kind of just stood there, zoning out. I don't know if you were watching or not, if you could even see. But you collapsed a few moments after. Ron and I, we grabbed all the wands we could get, and then Dobby showed up. He tried to prove a point by unscrewing the chandelier, but it fell so close to you. I had stunned Malfoy, so he was unconscious; otherwise, I'm sure he would have had a fit. But you were bleeding so heavily…and then you let out this small little gasp. I couldn't stand to leave you there, gasping like that so I grabbed you before we apparated." Harry's voice warbles a little and he hangs his head. "But when we were leaving, Bellatrix, she got really mad, as usual. She threw this silver knife at us as we apparated." With a pang, you have a flashback of Bellatrix, plunging the knife into the footboard of your bed. "It got sucked in with us. It stabbed you in the back. Literally, it just missed your nerves."

"I…" you shake your head. "You brought me with you?"

"I didn't want to leave you there," Harry explains. "I didn't trust leaving you there. Bellatrix had summoned…well, You-Know-Who. I thought he might do something to you. It didn't look so good, you appearing from the cellar, Ron and I flanking your sides."

"And Draco?" You asked.

"I would think he's fine." Harry pulled a wand from his pocket. "This is his, right? I grabbed it from him. They'll know he was trying to fight me off. He's safe."

You feel your eyes fill with tears that have nothing to do with the pain in your back. You were so blissful with Draco, things were back on track…and now…

"So where are we?" You asked, blinking back your tears.

"Shell Cottage," Harry tells you promptly. "Ron's brother Bill and his wife, Fleur, they live here."

You sit up and look around, taking in the beach-y surroundings.

"Where's everyone else?" By now, the beautiful, silvery woman is gone, no doubt offended by your abrupt attitude.

"Inside. Do you feel all right to get up? I would have carried you in, but you were bleeding so heavily that we were afraid to move you." You tenderly push yourself off the ground and dust off your hands, ignoring the dull throb of your back. You tentatively reach your hand back and run it over your spine. You can feel a large knot where Bellatrix hit you with the knife. You take a step, and your leg nearly gives out beneath you.

"Could you…?" You ask. Harry carefully maneuvers his hand around your waist and you lean on him, limping slightly towards the house.

"Here," he says after a few steps. "This might be easier." With a quick movement, as easily as if you were a small child, Harry swings you up into his arms. You clear your throat, uncomfortable, but he doesn't seem to notice. Harry begins to walk briskly towards the cottage, and as he does, you study him.

He looks different than he did at Hogwarts last years. His eyes are sad, and even somewhat dull, as if their inner light has flickered out. Harry wears a five 'o clock shadow, and his hands are badly scarred. No doubt, he has been prey to terrible stress, and it's aged him. He could pass for twenty-five.

"You look different," you say quietly as he makes his way up the gravel path. Harry kicks aside some of the smooth white rocks.

"So do you," he replies. "We both look older. More tired."

You nod and bite your lip silently, watching him. When you reach the door to the house, it swings open before Harry can place you down. Hermione and Ron are standing in the doorway, and the house-elf, Dobby, is anxiously pacing behind them.

"Thanks," you say to Harry, and he sets you down lightly on the balls of your feet. You catch Hermione and Ron sharing a set of raised eyebrows, as if asking what Harry was doing.

"Do you need…?" Harry asks, nodding towards the house.

"I think I can walk from here," you say. You grab onto the doorknob and launch yourself inside, standing awkwardly in the flower-scented kitchen, unsure of what to do next.

"Here," Hermione says. "Celia, I'll show you where you're to stay." You feel her move lightly around your side, and she appears next to you, her frame thin and shaky. She begins to shuffle back towards the open living room. You follow her, being careful of your steps. She stops at the first hallway, and pushes open a wooden door. There's a small, cream-colored bedroom with two beds.

"We'll have to share the room," Hermione tells you as you slowly move inside. You sit down on the edge of one of the beds, the one that is absent of a small, purple bag, and tuck your feet under the mattress. "I'm not a bad roommate, I promise."

You attempt to smile, as not to hurt her feelings. "Either am I. Any Slytherin can attest to it."

Hermione nods and offers a small smile. "Would you mind if I talked to you for a moment?"

"Sure," you reply, taken aback. Hermione steps inside the room and shuts the door behind her. She wrings her hands and sits down on the opposite bed.

"You…you've dated Malfoy a long time, haven't you?"

"Yes…"

"And he was your best friend?"

"Still is," you say. You can see where this is going. "Is it Harry or Ron?"

Hermione blushes. "Ron," she whispers.

"Does he have any idea?"

"I think so," Hermione says. "But then again, I'm always angry with him. But at the same time…" she shakes her head. "I don't know how to say it. But I feel like I should. I might not have any more time. Given what just happened a few hours ago…" she shivers.

"Don't wait then," you urge her. "I waited for such a long time to reveal my feelings to Draco. And really, I shouldn't have waited so long because it drove me crazy…for years really. Everyone knew but I was too stubborn to admit it."

"Harry knew," Hermione replied. "You know, he's really not bad at all…he didn't mean to ever hurt you. The opposite, in fact."

"I know," you say with a sigh.

"He loved you," Hermione pressed.

"He told me," you admit.

"And you never loved him back?" Hermione asked, leaning forward slightly. You stare at her for a moment, and then look out the window, out over the cliffs, where the ocean is visible. You're not sure how to answer at the moment. Was it possible that you did love Harry? Or that a part of you did? You knew that you had once had feelings for him, but those feelings were eclipsed for your feelings for Draco.

"I think I did. But it wasn't strong enough." Hermione nods. "I think that you should tell Ron how you feel."

"I can't believe I'm talking to you about this," Hermione says, smoothing back her hair. "I've always been so private and…and rational! I'm going crazy lately."

"We all have," you re-assure her. "I'm not bad, truly, even if I am a Slytherin."

That night, you lay in bed, listening to the waves lap against the shore. You lay on your back, your eyes open, wondering, hoping, that Draco was all right, that he was still out there, and that he was thinking of you. As you began to drift off, there was a soft tapping on the door. You sat up slowly, pulled the blankets around you and opened the door. Harry was standing there, wearing a sweater and pants that were far too long and were rolled up at the bottoms.

"Harry?" You asked. His face was slightly sweaty and red.

"I had a vision," he said suddenly, screwing up his eyes. You felt compelled to laugh, but you didn't. "I share a connection with you-know-who's mind. I can see though his eyes at time." You immediately felt your desire to laugh crumble at those words.

"What did you see?" You asked, your mind on Draco.

"Malfoy…I mean, Draco, he's fine. You-Know-Who was at the Manor. He punished some creatures, a goblin, but not any humans. Though I wish he had punished Bellatrix."

"She was there?" You asked, feeling your temper flare.

"I thought you always got on with the Malfoys," Harry said, staring at you. "Even Bellatrix."

"She's always scared me," you admit, leaning against the doorframe. "When we were little, she found Draco eavesdropping and she got really angry. Apparently, she swung the door open on his leg so hard that she caused the skin to tear and bleed. He's had a scar ever since."

Harry cocks his head. "Doesn't surprise me."

"Yeah, well." You look down at your feet. "She killed my parent's murderer. I should have felt relieved, I'm sure, but the thought of her just carving into another person-"

You stop talking when you see Harry's emotionless expression. "Sorry," you say hurriedly. "Sometimes I forget my language actually has impact."

"I think I've seen too much to really be bothered by it," Harry says. "Listen, I just wanted to tell you that Malfoy's alright. I knew you've been worrying."

"How could you tell?" You ask.

"Remember when you spent time with me last year?" Harry dances around more heavy words. "Whenever you got upset or worried, you would get this clenching sensation in your jaw. I saw it all through dinner."

"Yeah, well," you mumble, feeling somewhat embarrassed that he remembers, let alone noticed in the first place. "We all cling to certain habits."

Harry stares at you, hardly making a sound or a movement. He could be a statue, until he says:

"We all cling to familiar feelings. Whether they're the right feelings or beliefs or habits, well, that can be disputed."

You can't help but feel that his words have a double meaning.

"I'll see you in the morning, Harry."

"Good night, Celia."

You begin to close the door, but on second thought, open it again. Harry's back is retreating down the hallway. You remember briefly, the hatred you had conjured at the thought of him last year, and can hardly believe you ever felt that way.

"Harry."

Harry turned to look at you, and in the moonlight glowing through the bay windows his eyes glittered.

"Thank you. I wouldn't be alive without you."

"And I without you," Harry countered. He smiled briefly at you, and it looked as if his jaw was quivering with the effort, as if he hadn't smiled in ages.


	55. Chapter 55

You could sense plotting. It was practically ingrained in your DNA to recognize it, and so, when Harry, Hermione, and Ron started acting suspicious, your senses were on high alert. They seemed to visit the goblin, Griphook a lot, and you noticed that Harry and Ron kept the ruby-encrusted sword in their room, as if hiding it.

One day, you were helping Fleur with the laundry. She was a bit stifling, almost too maternal but too proud, but you liked her well enough. You had just washed the clothes in a bin and was outside, pinning them on the clothes line, waving your wand so they lined up, colors and whites.

"Mon Dieu," Fleur said, bending over the wash bin. "Ve are out of clothes pins."

"Shall I…?"

"No, no, I'll get them." Fleur shook back her wave of silvery hair and ran into the cottage. You watched her go for a second, and then strode over to one of the cliffs that surrounded the house. The sun was almost always present now, you guessed that the month was May, though, truthfully, you had no idea. The grasses on the sandy beaches were taller than they had been a few weeks ago, and flowers were shooting up amongst them, their buds a pleasant contrast to the rough green stems.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" A voice asked. Harry was standing slightly behind you, his hands in his pocket.

"I was just thinking that," you answered with a smile. You sat down on the edge of the cliff and hung your legs over the side. Harry came and sat down next to you, his hair ruffling slightly in the breeze that blew in from the ocean. "I like to come out here, it gets so crowded inside."

"Ollivander will be gone soon, as will Dean and Luna," Harry reminded you. "Ron's Aunt Muriel's house is supposedly huge, so that should be nice to have more room."

"And when are you, Hermione and Ron leaving?" You asked casually. Harry gave you a startled look.

"When…?"

"When are you leaving," you repeated slowly, turning to face him. You squinted slightly; the sun was reflecting off the lenses of his glasses, temporarily blinding you.

"We're not."

"Don't bull shit me, Harry," you said with a short, coarse laugh. "We death eaters are masters of plots and secrets…remember?"

Harry stared at you, clearly shocked to hear you speak about yourself and your situation in such a sarcastic but light manner.

"Next week," he told you.

"So soon?" You asked, kicking out your leg.

"Not soon enough," he said, his voice heavy.

"Where will you go?" You pressed.

"Hogwarts, eventually."

"I'm coming," you added.

"Don't be stupid, of course you aren't. You're safe here."

"Number one, I'm not being stupid, I'm being stubborn and headstrong, which, frankly, will overwhelm you so much you'll have to take me along. Number two, yes, I am. You brought me here on your own accord. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you didn't leave me to the Dark Lord or Bellatrix's wrath, but I didn't choose to be here either."

"I really don't have a choice, do I?" Harry asked with the smallest of smiles. "You're going to bully me into it, no matter what I say."

"You speak the truth."

"I just wish you would re-consider, Celia. I know why you want to get out, you want to return to see if Malfoy's doing okay. But you…you…" Harry struggled to find the words. "You're so valuable, Celia. To so many people. I don't think he would want you to put yourself in harms way."

"I already do," you reply quietly, studying his eyes. "Every day I spend with you I'm in danger. But I don't care, you know. You know I've never cared."

"Well you should," Harry suddenly exploded, turning red. "People love you and they don't want you to get hurt!"

You stared at him for a full on minute before speaking. As you did so, you kept the image of Draco in your head, a figure of strength.

"You're referring to Draco, I hope."

Harry was dead silent.

"You still love me, don't you?"

"Yes." He replied as if on impulse. "Ever since fourth year I have. I never got the look of hurt in your eyes out of my head. And then I found myself searching for you everyday just so I could look at you, and take you in. You know why I did everything I did last year? Because I've never felt so strongly for one person in my life. I wanted to keep you away from _him." _Harry spit out the word "him" like it was snake venom. "He was dangerous and he put you in danger. And I could see you were so precariously on the brink of death. I never wanted that for you."

"You cared that much?"

"Of course I did," Harry said gently. He smiled. "I still do. That's why I want you to stay here."

You stood up abruptly, sending gravel crashing down the side of the cliff. Harry wobbled a bit in his haste to stand up as well, and you grabbed his arm so he wouldn't fall.

"You're a good friend, Harry," you told him. "But as friend only. You know my heart belongs to Draco. Truly, it does."

"Are you telling me that you've never had feelings for me?" Harry asked, grabbing your hand. He placed it on his heart, running his thumb over the side of your hand.

"I did," you said. "Of course I did. I liked you when I dated you, the first time that is. But I've always had feelings for Draco."

"Do you still have feelings for me?" Harry questioned further, lowering his head a bit, so he could stare directly into your eyes.

You didn't know how to answer his question honestly. You didn't want to hurt anyone, least of all yourself. You felt as if you were being pulled in half. One side, by Draco, your best friend, the one you know best, love most, and sexiest being you've ever been with. On the other hand was Harry, so dutiful and courageous and loyal, always looking out for you. At that moment, you reflected on what kind of people they both were, and realized they were the only people you had ever been with. You loved them both, no matter the deeds they had committed.

"Yes," you replied, slipping your hand out from his.

"Then there's still-"

"No," you interrupted. Although you loved both of them, there was one love that was stronger. And that one you planned to stick with, till death do you part. "Harry. I should have told you, but Draco and I…well, we're engaged."

"Engaged," he repeated blankly, dropping his hand down by his side.

"Engaged," you confirmed.

"To be married?" He took a step back. "But…you're only seventeen. Where's your ring?"

"He never gave me one," you said, drawing out the necklace you wore around your neck. "This is the equivalent. It was his grandmothers."

"You're really going to marry him?"

"Of course," you said simply. "I love him."

Harry shook his head and looked down at his feet. "How can you love two people and make such a decision?"

"Because I know that the other will find someone who loves him more than I ever could have," you answer. You reach out, pat Harry on the arm, and then leave, slipping inside Shell Cottage without turning back.

Although you expected Harry to be mad at you, he wasn't. He simply tried to spend more time in your company, determined to show you what you would surely be missing during married life. In turn, you resisted his subtle hints, thinking of Draco, no doubt in danger and pain. But then again, your time at Shell cottage was limited. Within a week, you were included in Harry's plans for leaving.

"You want to rob Gringotts?" You asked him. "Are you completely mad?"

"We need to," Harry insisted, and Ron, who was on his left, swallowed. Hermione, however, nodded.

"Why?"

"It's not…I can't say."

"You want me to break into Gringotts, the most dangerous place in our world next to Hogwarts, with no explanation as to why."

Harry swallowed.

"When you put it like that," Ron mumbled.

"Yes," Harry interrupted, cutting him off smoothly. "Look at it this way, Celia. You will get to Draco faster." His eyes dimmed. "And we know that's what you want."

"And we need you," Hermione butted in. "You were a death eater, you know Bellatrix's mannerisms and her attitude…"

"What does Bellatrix have to do with this?" You asked, panicking.

"Er…" Hermione sat back slightly, her face less eager.

"Hermione's going to be impersonating Bellatrix," Harry said slowly. "We have her wand and her hair, so she'll be convincing."

"No," you said at once, standing up. "You're completely off your rocker. She's the most dangerous witch out there."

"Do you trust me?" Harry asked softly, looking up at you with a piercing gaze. You froze like a deer in the headlights, and Ron and Hermione looked at each other, trying to decipher the meaning behind your look.

"Fine," you said, taking your seat once more. "Fill me in."

On May Sixth, Harry woke you at dawn. He was dressed in his typical black robes, and his glasses were on.

"Celia," he whispered, shaking your shoulder. "Wake up. We have to leave. Hermione's already awake."

"I'm up," you replied immediately, shooting off the mattress. You immediately crossed your arms and blinked blearily. Harry was still standing there. "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"I need to get dressed."

"Oh." He said, blushing. "Right. I'll just…" he left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Twenty minutes later, Harry, Ron, Griphook and yourself stood on the lush grass outside Shell Cottage. You were just finishing Ron's disguise. He was to be transformed into Dragomir Despard, a Transylvanian businessman who was interested in the Death Eaters. Ron now looked far older than usual. He had dark brown hair that was past his shoulders and a thick beard. His blue eyes were smaller and brown and his skin was darker. His nose had a protuberance and there was a fake scar above his right eye.

"Hermione will get your transformation, Celia," Harry said as you finished.

"She's better at it than I am," Ron said enthusiastically. "What's your name going to be again?"

"Ron, I'm your wife," you said testily. Harry let out a small grunt. "Emilie Despard."

At that moment, a door slammed from the cottage. Bellatrix Lestrange was walking across the lawn towards you, her hair rippling in the early sunlight.

"God she tasted disgusting, worse than gurdyroots," Hermione said as she approached the group. She swung her purple beaded bag into her robes, and then pulled out her wand. "Come on, Celia. Let's give you a disguise."

Although you couldn't see what she was doing, you could feel it. Your hair grew shorter, and you could spot a flash of copper as it shrunk. Your skin turned more tan, your eyes widened, and there was a tweak, as if the iris changed color. Your nose became pointier.

"Can you tell who she is?" Hermione asked Harry, grabbing your shoulders and shoving you closer to him. You locked eyes with him, and you knew that Harry could see you under the disguise, but only from the look you were sharing.

"No," he mumbled, turning away. "Let's get out of here."

At his words, Griphook scrambled onto his back. Harry pulled an invisibility cloak from his pocket and swung it over the two of them, hiding them from view. Hermione placed a hand on your shoulder, and one on Ron's. Harry lightly placed a hand on your elbow. And then, with a bang, Hermione apparated. You were pulled through darkness and light, gasping for air, and then, you landed.

You glanced around and took in a sharp breath. You had arrived in the Leaky Cauldron. At the sight of Hermione, the few customers retreated into darker shadows, hoping to scramble away from her as quickly as possible. You felt Harry shift slightly next to

you, and you cleared your throat loudly.

"Madam Lestrange," a voice greeted Hermione, the tone trembling, as if someone was plucking at their vocal chords. You glanced over to see Tom, the barman, standing at the bar, his wand pointed at a pyramid of glasses, which were polishing themselves repeatedly.

"Good morning," Hermione said briskly, beginning to walk towards the exit of the café. Tom looked taken aback at her attitude.

"Too nice, Hermione," both you and Harry hissed as she opened the door to the alley.

"Hermione, this was a woman who was willing to sacrifice her own family. She's not nice, she never has been. She cursed Draco when we were kids and left a huge scar down the side of his leg. Be a bitch, Hermione." Hermione swallowed, nodded, and tapped the bricks on the wall in front of her.

At once, the wiggled and then moved apart. Hermione, Ron, you, and then Harry clambered through. Diagon Alley was almost completely barren. However, it looked as if it was the sight of a battle. Windows were broken and paper littered the street. There was skid marks on the cobble, and bodies lay in the gutters. However, these bodies were very much alive, and groaned and begged as you began to pass.

"Bellatrix," yet another voice greeted. You saw a tall figure emerge from a head, wearing a very high-collared set of robes, complete with a tightly curled mustache.

"It's Travers," you whispered as you stopped in your tracks. Hermione gave a slight nod of her head.

"Hello, Travers," she said in a cold tone.

"Fancy seeing you here, Bellatrix," Travers replied, sounding skeptical as he approached. "I was under the impression you were ah…tied up at home?" The irony in his statement nearly set you off laughing.

"Were you?"

"I assure you, Bella, that-"

"I don't know what sad rumors you have been listening to, but rest assured, all is well. Perhaps your credit with the Dark Lord is not as good as mine is." Travers looked insulted, haughty even, but convinced.

"Who is in your company?" He barked, looking you up and down.

"This is Dragomir Despard and his wife, Emilie," Hermione told him. "They traveled here from Transylvania to see the Dark Lord's regime. They are very much in support of the Dark Lord's aims."

"'Ow you?" Ron asked, extended a hand.

"Pleasure," Travers said nastily, shaking his hand with two fingers. He turned to you and bowed, so you inclined your head slightly.

"What brings you to Diagon Alley?"

"I need to visit my Gringott's vault," Hermione said briskly, beginning to walk towards the bank. You and Ron shuffled in her wake as Travers fell into step with her. You could faintly hear Harry's footsteps as he followed closely.

"Ah, gold, filthy gold," Travers cried dramatically. "We can't live without it. I do, however, deplore the necessity of associating with our long-fingered friends." You heard a small wheeze behind you, as if Griphook was angrily hissing. Hermione and Travers began to climb the steps of the bank and then, you paused. There were two guards on either sides of the golden doors, swiping long probes through the air.

"Security," Ron breathed lightly, his eyes widening. You hesitated, and when you paused, a flash of light whizzed past you. It split and hit either guard, and they gave a little twitch.

"Excuse me, Ma'am," one of the guards said, dazed, raising his probe. Hermione whipped around, her face a terrifying mask of anger.

"But you've just done that!" She cried.

"Yeah, Marcus, you've just done it," the other guard agreed as you, Ron, and a silent Harry and Griphook passed. Travers opened the doors wide and swept in. When you walked into the bank, you paused. _You had a sudden memory of when you were young, maybe five or six years old, and your mother hand brought you and Draco into the bank while she was running errands._

"_One day," Draco said importantly as he began to strut into the bank, "Everything will be mine. All the gold and gems my mother and father have." He paused to look at one of the goblins, who was counting out sapphires that matched your mother's eyes._

"_Don't you think there's more important things?" you asked, though you salivated over the pile of multi-colored pearls that another goblin was examining._

"_Friends," Draco had replied. He had winked at you and then darted ahead, leaving you standing in the middle of the lobby, admiring the wealth that surrounded you._

Nearly thirteen years later, you stood in the same spot. Nothing had changed, yet, _everything_ had changed.


	56. Chapter 56

"Madam Lestrange!" A voice said, and you snapped out of your reverie. You realized your mouth was open and you were staring vacantly at the ceiling above. Harry elbowed you in the back, and you snapped your jaw shut. You turned your head to see Hermione standing at the nearest desk, Ron and Travers by her side. "How may I help you today?"

"I need to visit my vault," Hermione said in a clipped tone.

"Oh, my," the Goblin said. "Well, we will need some form of identification."

"I..." Hermione sounded affronted, but under that tone, you could hear panic. "I have never been asked for identification before!" Travers looked at her, curious at her flustered words.

"Your wand will do, Madam." The goblin held out it's knobby hand, it's long fingers curled at the ends. With shaking hands, Hermione reached into her pocket and pulled out Bellatrix's wand. She handed it to the goblin, who raised it's eyebrows. You heard a small whisper behind you, and then another small light rushed forward and hit the goblin in the chest. The goblin slumped slightly, relaxed. "Ah, you've had a new wand made!"

"No, no I-"

"How is that possible?" Travers asked loudly. "All the wand makers are go-" A beam of light hit him in the back of the neck, and his eyes slid out of focus. "I see. Very nice. I think all wands require a little breaking in, don't you?"

Hermione looked a bit surprised, but quickly narrowed her eyes.

"Excuse me, Madam," another goblin squawked. It ran around your knees and approached the counter. It climbed the steps to the podium and began to whisper in the other goblin's ear. "Excuse me, Madam Lestrange," it excused itself, looking nervously at Hermione. You leaned forward, straining to hear the words it told the other goblin. "…We have special instructions regarding the vault of Lestrange…"

"It's fine," the first goblin said, almost impatiently. It drew a small key from a desk drawer and shouldered by the other goblin. "Very old family, old clients…" the first goblin handed Hermione her wand. "Come with me, please."

Hermione, Ron, and a dazed Travers began to follow Hermione, and you obediently trailed after them. You could feel Harry right next to you, the invisibility cloak sometimes brushing against your legs. You glanced back to see the other goblin, standing in the middle of the hall, watching you go. He hurried away, towards another goblin.

"Look ahead," you hear Griphook hiss as the golden doors began to open. Harry ushered you inside, and you closed the doors behind you. At once, Harry yanked off the invisibility cloak and Griphook jumped off his shoulders. Travers and the first goblin didn't notice Harry appear, and if they did, they didn't seem to mind that the most wanted person in the wizarding world was standing in their midst.

"They've been imperiused," Harry explains, tucking his cloak into his breast pocket. He flicks his wand, and Travers quickly turns and begins to walk the other way, squeezing into a small niche in the stone wall. The imperiused goblin whistles, and you hear a cart begin to rattle up the tracks, whizzing along the old caverns. You swallow the small ball of nerves that's lodged itself in your throat and curl your fists. You close your eyes and remind yourself why you're doing this. Why you're standing with 3 outlaws, waiting to break into the vault of one of the most deadly witches in the world, why you're risking your life and sanity to do so. A pair of handsome blue eyes cross your mind. That sparkling blue with the yellow sunbursts around the pupils. Those eyes, that person, is why you're standing here, ready to risk the life your parents gave you.

A loud screech causes you to open your eyes. In the dim light that the torches provide, you can see the small wooden cart, expectantly poised by your feet, like a dog asking for praise. The goblin makes it's way forward, opens the door, and attaches a lantern to the black iron rod that sticks straight up in the front seat.

"Come on," Harry says, clambering into the cart. He holds out a hand, and you take it, lowering yourself down onto the seat next to him. Griphook sits down next to you, and you resist the urge to shutter, creeped out by his long yellow fingernails and stale breath. Hermione and Ron step in after the goblin, who shuts the cart door, and still in a robotic manner, leans forward. The cart begins to clack along, picking up speed as it dives deeper into Gringott's. You feel your body lean forward, as if the cart is heading straight down towards the pits of hell. All of a sudden…

"No!" Hermione screams. You take your eyes off the tracks and look up to see a huge waterfall blocking the cart's path. You gasp and cover your head with your arms, and beside you, you hear Harry do the same. The cart rushes under the water and you feel it pound down on your skull and you can't hear anything or see anyone, and then, it stops. You breathe out, relieved, and choke a bit on some water you managed to inhale. But your relief lasts but a second. Within that moment, the cart trundles head-long and hits the wall in front of you. The thin boards of the cart split apart, the nails hitting the tracks with a metallic clang, and you feel yourself being thrown sideways. You closed your eyes and curled up. This was it. After everything you had gone through, this was surely the end. You were going to fall to the ground and become a splatter, like a slash of paint on a Pollock painting.

Distantly, you heard someone cry out for you. You opened your eyes wide, and in the darkness, you could see that Harry was falling too. His hand was reached out towards you, the fingers splayed apart in an almost child-like manner. Time seemed to slow down at that point, and you reached your hand toward his. Harry grabbed onto your fingers, linking them in his, and pulled you towards him. Your body rammed into his, and you threw an arm around his shoulders, burying your face in the collar of his jacket. You didn't want the last thing you saw to be everyone's bodies hitting the floor. Harry's other hand flew up to the back of your head, protecting it, much like a turtle's shell. You closed your eyes once more, before the terrified tears could fall and before you could hit the ground. And again, there was that flash of memory. Only this time, it was every memory you had. Beginning from when you were two, your life flashed across your eyes, the memories dancing like flames.

And then, there was a shout. And you felt your body stop falling. You had landed. You shook still, and slowly, you felt Harry removed his hand from your head. His neck straightened up a bit.

"C-cushioning c-c-charm," you heard Hermione stutter. You opened your eyes and lifted your neck. All of you were floating, maybe just a few inches off the stone floor. You were horrified to see that Hermione no longer resembled Bellatrix. Her hair was returning to it's normal brown and frizzy texture, her nose was shortening, her eyes were growing wider and kinder. Ron had already returned back to his normal appearance, and you could feel your features tweaking, as if they too were reverting to their normal state.

"Our disguises," you managed to choke out. You snatched your hand out of Harry's and pointed at Ron and Hermione. "We all look normal."

"They know there are intruders," Griphook said, and you stood up. "We must hurry before they set up more defenses against us." Everyone else sprung to their feet. Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and waved it through the air. The goblin, who was standing motionlessly in front of you, turned the opposite way and began to run. Harry sprinted after him, and you followed, unsure of where you were going. Behind you, Ron and Hermione's heavy footsteps sounded like blasts from a cannon, and you could hear Griphook wheezing. Finally, you entered a round chamber. The lights were dim, and then, you felt your heart stop. Surrounded by high, jagged walls of stone was a dragon. It's eyes were watery and pink, as if it had been blinded, and it's hide was covered in puckered scars and raised boils.

"The clankers," Griphook managed to burst out, pointing to the other goblin. You were to terrified to make sense of what he was saying. Because there was a dragon in the middle of the room, and it lifted it's head and it's nostrils flared, as if it could smell you…you felt your knees shake. Harry lifted his wand as the dragon stumbled to it's feet, and the goblin began to shake a pair of bells it produced from it's pocket. Hermione let out a terrified squeak. The dragon, however, let out a defeated roar and began to back away from your group. The goblin began to move along the wall, and Griphook began to follow. You were still too scared to move, afraid that if you did, the dragon would surely shoot out a flame that would envelope your body and burn it to a crisp…Harry, impatient and hopped up on nerves, grabbed you by the shoulders and began to pull you along with him. You let him, because your mind was a bumbling mess. "The clankers protect us," Griphook was telling Harry. "See the burns? The scars? The goblins here would burn the dragon with a hot poker while clanking those bells. Soon enough, it learned to be afraid of the sound, it learned to fear the people that made the sound."

Hermione let out an angry sniff.

After a few tense, quiet moments (except for the small huffs of the dragon), you made it around the length of the round room. The goblin lead you into a small corridor, and Griphook followed closely behind. Finally, after what seemed like years, your group reached a door. The goblin took out the key from around it's neck, and pressed it right into the center of the door. There was no keyhole. At once, the door began to move. Inside, you could hear the bolts pulling away from their holders, and the metal squeaked. Finally, the door opened.

In unison, you, Ron, and Hermione gasped. The Lestranges vault was the largest you had seen. At least five times bigger than your own, and about three times bigger than the Malfoys. Harry eagerly stepped inside, his eyes raking the piles of treasures, carelessly looking over the priceless gold, silver and jewels.

"Blimey," Ron said breathlessly, stepping in after Harry. You and Hermione shared an awestruck glance, and then stepped in after them.

"Lumos," you whispered, pulling your wand out from underneath your still-wet cloak. The other mimicked this movement, looking around the room. "Right. Remind me what you're looking for again."

"A small, golden cup," Harry repeated patiently. He craned his neck. "It has handles and a badger on the front."

"Harry, could this be-?" Hermione had bent to pick up a golden goblet. She suddenly let out a small cry of surprise and let go of the goblet. It fell from her grip and hit the tile floor, where replicas of the same goblet scattered across the floor. "It burned me!"

"They have added the Geronimo and Flagarete curses," Griphook warned. "Everything will burn your skin and multiply. Thieves will be crushed under the ever expanding weight of the gold."

"Okay, don't touch anything," Harry said desperately, but even as he said so, Ron's foot accidentally brushed against a pile of galleons, and your wand skimmed the surface of a tiara. You let out a scream as the tiaras began to multiply, the hot silver pressing against your robes, singeing them. You heard another scream, but this time, it wasn't you. It wasn't Ron, Hermione, Harry or Griphook. You locked eyes with Harry, and you felt your stomach squirm.

"Wizards!" Griphook warned, dashing to the door and peering out. "They're trying to calm the dragon. We must hurry!"

You felt a small drop of sweat trickle down from your hairline down the bridge of your nose. And that's when you saw it. You reached up a hand to brush the sweat away, and as you did so, something in the upper left corner of the room caught your eye.

"Harry!" You cried, pointing to it. "That's it, isn't it? That's the cup."

"Celia!" Harry called back, beaming. He looked as if he could have kissed you, and would have enjoyed it too. Then, his face fell. "It's too high up." He looked to Hermione. "Hermione?"

Hermione's lower lip quivered. She reached into her purple bag, and from it's depths, she grabbed the sword of Gryffindor. "Here," she said quietly, tossing it to Harry, hilt first. "Use that to get it down. It shouldn't burn or multiply."

Harry raised the sword in the air, trying to reach the cup. The blade was only a few inches away from touching the base of the cup.

"Hermione," he repeated. This time, she didn't say a word. Hermione raised Bellatrix's wand high, and then brought it down like a knife.

"Levicorpus," she said in a small voice. Harry's body shot up into the air, ankle first. As his body flew, his arm hit a suit of armor mounted by the wall. Before you could run, you saw the armor split and multiply again and again, the sea of metal surrounding you. You felt it burn into your sides, against your arms, and you let out a scream of pain. Tears began to leak from your eyes.

"Hurry!" you screeched at Harry. He grappled with the sword, and then managed to slide the blade through one of the arms. The cup slid down to the base of the sword.

"Liberacorpus," Hermione managed to bawl, pointing her wand at Harry, who fell onto the sea of metal. Hermione and Ron grabbed the imperused goblin and pulled him from the metal. He emerged, his body covered in blisters, howling. You frantically looked around for Griphook, and that's when you saw him. He had jumped on Harry's back and seized the sword from his hand. He held on tightly to Harry's hair as Harry grabbed onto the cup. A beam of red light suddenly flew by your ear, directed at Harry. A wizard was standing at the entrance of the vault, his wand raised, surrounded by goblins.

"Thieves, thieves, thieves," they shouted. Griphook slipped out of the room, still clutching the sword, and none of them seemed to notice.

"Come on," Harry bellowed. He reached out, and you placed your sweaty hand in his. He pulled you out from the metal, and Ron and Hermione held onto each other as they kicked their way out.

"Stupefy!" You shouted, pointing your wand at the wizard. He fell to the ground with a dull thump. Hermione and Ron joined in, taking care of the goblins, as you and Harry scrambled towards the entrance. "Stupefy!" you yelled once more, and the last goblin kneeled over.

"Let's get out of here!" Ron shouted, and the four of you began to run, dashing back down the stooped hallway. You skidded out into the dragon's chamber, and on the other side of the room, you could see more wizards, running down the opposite hallway towards you.

"I have an idea!" Harry roared over the chaos. The dragon began to roar as the wizards approached, and leapt to it's clawed feet, it's tail swinging over your head. He pointed to the dragon.

"ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY BARKING?" Ron hollered back.

"Well," you said suddenly, speaking up for one of the first times. "It's not like we can apparate out. Unless you would rather get killed by one of the guards." Hermione raised an eyebrow at Ron, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards. You turned back towards the dragon, and raised your wand.

"Relashio!" The chains around the dragons feet snapped open. Ron took a deep breath.

"One, two, three!" Hermione shrieked. The four of you began to sprint towards the dragon. You vaulted yourself over a large stone, and then clambered onto the dragon's back. Harry jumped up in front of you, Hermione after you, and Ron in back. The dragon let out a hideous roar as you did so. The dragon realized it was free. The wizards near the entrance gasped in fear as the dragon let out another roar, and then shot a flame out towards them.

"Help it escape!" Hermione cried. She pointed her wand at the ceiling. "Depulso!" The ceiling fell in, thick pieces coating the floor. You, Ron and Harry did the same. The dragon suddenly threw back it's head, crushing the rest of the plaster. It spread it's leathery wings, and with a lurch, it shot up through the floor. It crashed through the Gringott's lobby, and then through the ceiling. Hermione screams in fear and grabs onto your waist, her nails digging into your ribcage. You close your eyes and throw your arms around Harry's waist, afraid of plunging to your death. Harry breathes deeply and pats your hand, his other hand grasping onto the last chain, the one that circles the dragon's neck. You refuse to open your eyes for the rest of the ride, even when Harry says it's okay to look. Your stomach protests to the bumpy ride, and the breeze makes you sick to your stomach.

After a while, you hear Ron begin to murmur.

"Quick, before it lands and sees us!"

"Ron, we can't just-"

"We have to, before we become lunch!" Ron argued back.

"Ron's right, Hermione," you heard Harry call. "We're going to have to jump." Your eyes finally sprang open at that. You glanced down at the ground, and immediately felt like vomiting. A wide, glassy lake was visible below, miles and miles of pure water.

"NO!" You said firmly. "I just can't." You felt like you were being held captive by Regulus again. The water, however pure and calm it looked, was dangerous. The dragon circled lower, it's yellow belly reflected on the surface.

"Celia," Harry countered, just as firmly. "You're going to jump."

"NO!" You shrieked, pulling back. You curled your hands into fists and began to hit him on the back. Immature, maybe, but it was the only way you could get him to listen.

"Celia!" Harry shouted. He reached around and grabbed your fists in his hands. His eyes were wide. "Stop."

You relaxed your arms a little, but only a little. And that was your mistake. Harry nodded to Ron and Hermione, and then he slid over the side of the dragon. He pulled you down with him.

You didn't have time to yell before your body hit the water. It hit the surface with a deafening crash, and then your lungs filled with water. Your kicked your way up to the sunlight, your head broke the surface, and you spit out a mouthful of water. Furious, wet, and terrified, you began to swim towards land, your limbs pushing through the water like a knife cutting through butter.

You were the first one to reach the beach. You shook the hair out of your eyes, pulled off your shoes and socks, and then your robes. You let out a shaky breath.

"I'm sorry," a voice said. Harry was emerging from the surf, his hair hanging in his eyes, his glasses fogged up, and the cup hanging around his neck.

"You're fucking crazy," you hissed angrily. You grabbed up your belongings and stalked away, refusing to look at him. You settled down on a boulder so you could dry your things in the sun. Hermione came over ten minutes later, a bottle of juice in her hand.

"Here." She shoved it at you, and you accepted it silently. You cracked open the top and drank as if you had been parched for days. "Harry's sorry he pulled you into the water."

"I overreacted," you admit. "But I have a fear of water."

Hermione didn't say anything at first. She tied up her t-shirt, so her stomach showed.

"Harry's up on that cliff." She pointed up, and you sighed. She was too clever. You got to your feet and began to climb the grassy hill, towards the cliff.

Harry was sitting by himself, his elbows planted firmly on the ground. His head was looking towards the sky, so that the sun reflected off his glasses. You walked up quietly behind him, and then stood next to him, feeling the wind whip your hair and looking out over the lake.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," you told him. Harry nodded. "I have a fear of water."

"Why water?" He asked. You sat down next to him, Indian-style. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I don't know if I ever told you, but I was tortured with water. In a way. I was made to believe I was going to drown for days on end, and I was held over the water."

Harry's expression changed to shock. "Who did that to you?" His eyes widened. "Not the Malfoys?"

"Don't be stupid," you reprimanded him. "Of course not. It's not important who did it. Just that it happened. I'm sorry."

Harry nodded.

"In a way," you said, somewhat quietly. "It was fun."

"What?" He asked disbelievingly. "Breaking into Gringott's?"

"Yeah," you replied with a chuckle. "Think about it. We were the first people to do it and survive. And we weren't exactly subtle about it." Harry grinned. "You were scared."

"Terrified," you admit. "When we were falling, I thought I was going to die."

"So did I," Harry pipes up. "But…I was okay with it." He sits up. "I had you there with me." You squint and place a hand over your eyes, so you can look at him. With the fastest hands you've ever seen, Harry grabs your chin, and he presses his lips against yours. You wonder why you don't resist, why you don't push him away, and maybe slap him. You can't, you realize, because you love him. But he's not the only one you love. You slowly pull away, biting you lip.

"When we were falling," you speak up before he can say a word. "I saw my life flash before my eyes. Draco was in all of my memories. Nearly all of them." You place a hand on Harry's shoulder. "He was my first everything. He will be my last everything."

Harry, to your surprise, calmly covered your hand with his own. "It's okay."

"Really?" You asked. You felt a little sting, but more relief than anything.

Harry blushes. "I didn't feel anything when I kissed you."

You blink a few times. You feel guilty, but you need to know.

"Wait," you say. You close your eyes and lean in once more, and lightly touch your lips to his. Nothing. No fireworks, no bells, no music, nothing. Just the smell of his breath. You pull back and open your eyes. You could burst out into song and dance with all the relief you feel. Maybe…maybe you didn't love Harry after all. Maybe you loved the idea of him. Draco's weaknesses were exemplified in Harry, and maybe you were drawn to that, but it didn't cause you to feel anything.

"No more of this," Harry says with a final tone, standing up. He offered you his hand, somewhat cheerily, and you take it, hopping up on the balls of your feet. You brush off your shorts. Harry smiles at you, and you smile back. "Come on, friend. It's time to plan our next move."

The two of you begin to move through the tall grasses, back towards Ron and Hermione, kicking at the ground. And for the first time, you walk as friends.


	57. Chapter 57

By the end of the evening, as the sun was just beginning to cast a hazy orange light over the hills, it was decided that you, Harry, Ron and Hermione would apparate into Hogsmeade. All of you gathered under the large, leafy oak tree by the lake and joined hands, ready to leave. Hermione paused, and nodded across the way. The Gringott's dragon was sleeping.

"Should we tell someone it's here?" She asked in a troubled voice. You saw her hand clench in Ron's. You felt a pang in your heart. In all the excitement, you forgot how much you missed Draco. Ron rolled his eyes.

"It's a dragon, Hermione. I think it'll get on okay."

Hermione sighed, and then gripped Ron's hand more tightly. You squeezed Harry's shoulder, and then Hermione turned on the spot.

The first thing you felt was cold air on your face. When your eyes snapped open to recognize Hogsmeade, you saw the moon rising above the village. That's when the alarms went off. Loud, piercing shrill screeches that echoed loudly through the village.

Mist began to file in at your feet, and the air became even colder. There was shouting, and then a door nearby banged open.

"Come out to play, Potter?" Someone roared. Harry grabbed your arm and yanked you back by a dumpster. Ron was silent, his body protectively positioned in front of Hermione's, whose eyes were wide. You peeked out of the alley you had apparated into. Death Eaters were running up and down the main street.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Harry whispered. You quickly grabbed Hermione and Harry, who grabbed Ron. Harry turned on the spot, but he couldn't apparate. So you tried. The cold mist trapped you there. You were stuck. Harry quickly dug his invisibility cloak out from under his robes and threw it around the four of you.

"What are we going to do?" Hermione asked.

You heard the Death Eaters begin to yell at each other, and then quieted Hermione. You strained to listen.

"…I say send in the dementors."

"The Dark Lord wants him alive."

"So? He'll be a lot easier to kill if his soul's gone!"

There was a roar of agreement. You felt an icy shard of fear plunge into your heart.

"Dementors," you whispered.

"Harry," Hermione breathed, and her voice was high-pitched. "What are we going to do?"

Harry shook his head. "I can't cast a patronus. They'll know we're here."

But it soon became evident that he would have to. The feeling of despair, of hopelessness quickly began to creep into your heart, and your breath became frozen in the air. Then, one of the dementors slid by the alley. You all held your breath as it pointed a scabby hand towards you.

"Expecto Patronum," Harry whispered, pointing his wand. The stag leapt forward, filling the alley with light.

"Quick, Potter," a voice said. Someone grabbed Harry, who pulled the rest of you along, and shoved you into the nearest building. "Go upstairs." The door shut. You barely had time to register your settings before Harry grabbed your hand and pulled you up the stairs behind him. As soon as the door closed, Hermione let out a small moan of relief and sunk onto a stool. Harry crossed the room and shut the curtains tightly. Ron ripped the invisibility cloak of himself and went to sit beside Hermione. You folded it neatly, pretending not to hear the scene happening outside.

"…If I want to put my cat outside, I damn well will. You going to arrest me for that?"

"I saw Potter's Patronus!" A voice yelled back. "A stag. I saw it!"

Harry tenses slightly. You place your hand on his shoulder and he relaxes.

"Here's your cloak," you say quietly as the yelling increases.

"…A STAG? That's a goat, IDIOT!"

"That's not what I saw…"

"I hope you didn't press your little Dark Marks and call Him here. Would be a waste for me and my cat."

"Don't worry about us." There was an indistinguishable shout, and then the sound of footsteps heading in the opposite direction. You sidled up to the window and pulled the curtain back a fraction of an inch. The Death Eaters were leaving, and the fog from the dementors was gone.

"What's wrong with you?" A gruff voice asked. A hand pulled the curtain back over the window completely, obscuring you from view. "You want to get caught?"

"Sorry," you said in a small voice.

A tall, grisly man with scraggly grey hair slumped away. You thought you might recognize him, but you couldn't place his face. Ron's stomach growled loudly, and everyone glanced at him.

"Hungry?" The man asked, staring at Ron. Hermione nervously glanced at the man and the got off her stool. She walked towards the fireplace and began to study a portrait of a blonde girl.

"Yeah," Ron answered quickly.

"I got food," the man said. He slumped back down the stairs. Hermione suddenly turned around, a look of awe on her face.

"It's…" she began, nodding to the portrait above the fireplace.

The man suddenly walked through the door, carrying flagons of ale, and a plate of cheese and bread. Hermione shut up instantly. Ron and Harry instantly grabbed bread, and you did too. You were famished. Almost all your energy was gone from the day.

Once everyone was done eating, you slumped a little in your chair. You wanted to sleep more than anything. But Harry's sudden question shook you out of your sleepy stupor.

"You're Aberforth, aren't you?"

The man strolled over to the fireplace and ran a finger down the frame of a small mirror that was propped against the painting.

"Where's the elf?" He asked in reply.

"He died," Harry said clearly. The man grunted.

"That's too bad. I liked that elf." He turned away from the mirror. You realized for the first time, how you recognized this man. His eyes were a light shade of crystal blue you had only seen once before. He was Dumbledore's brother.

"Mr. Dumbledore, sir?" Hermione spoke up in a tentative voice. "Is that your sister? Is that Arianna?" She pointed to the portrait above the fireplace.

"Been reading your Rita Skeeter, Missy?" Aberforth's voice was wounded. He didn't answer her question.

"Thank you for everything," Harry said, standing up off his chair. "But we need to get going."

"What?" Aberforth asked incredulously. "Don't be stupid boy, you were nearly just killed."

"We need to get into Hogwarts." Aberforth scoffed under his breath.

"Impossible."

"Please," Harry said, holding steady eye contact. "We have a job to do."

"With her?" Aberforth wheeled around and pointed a finger at you. You gulped and shrunk back slightly. Hermione stood at your side, a steely look in her eyes as she stared Aberforth down. "She's one _their _side. They've been looking for her everywhere. It's all over the papers."

"Your brother left us a job. He trusted us, and we trust her."

"My brother. What did my brother tell you to do? Of course he would leave something to you-"

"Dumbledore-"

"My brother shouldn't have left you a job to do! My brother didn't trust anyone…not even…" Aberforth hunched over. Unless you were mistaken, you heard a small sob. Without any prompting, Aberforth began to speak. He pointed to the portrait above the fireplace. "My brother…the perfect golden boy…" He shook his head. "My little sister loved me most. She wasn't right, you know. When she was a kid, she was normal. But one day, a few muggle boys saw her doing magic through a hedge. She couldn't control her magic, she was just so young. The boys saw her, and they ambushed her. They tried to find out what she was doing, and when she didn't say anything, they attacked her. They got carried away with stopping the little freak from doing it. My mother raised her while Albus and I were at school." His voice shook. "When my mother died, I had to come back. But then Albus stepped in. Said he would take care of Arianna. But until I came back to really take care of her, he was miserable. And then…" his voice became scarily bitter. "He met him. Grindlewald. And the genius had a friend. A like-mind. They were always going off, discussing their plans for world domination, plotting their take-over of muggles. But one day, when I was taking care of Arianna, Grindlewald came in the house. He was looking for my brother. We got into a disagreement, and before I knew it, I was being tortured by my brother's best friend, by use of the cruciatus curse."

You winced. You remembered the jab of the curse.

"Albus tried to stop him. And then all three of us were dueling. She just couldn't stand it, she didn't know what was going on. She tried to stop us, and then a curse hit her. She died instantly. It could have been any of us." Aberforth slumped down in his seat. He clears his throat, and glances around at all of you, his eyes setting on Harry's scar. "Albus left after that. Free to live his own-"

"He was never free," Harry interrupted. "The night your brother died…he had a hallucination. He was saying 'don't hurt them, hurt me.' He was never free."

Aberforth raised his eyebrows as if it wasn't a big deal. "Listen, I don't know what my brother told you to do, but it is your decision, I guess."

"We need to get to Hogwarts," Harry repeated. There was a pause, where Aberforth stared down Harry and Harry stared down Aberforth. Hermione nervously looked back and forth at them, like she was watching a ping-pong game. Ron belched quietly. Aberforth stood and walked up to the portrait.

"You know what to do," he said to the girl. She nodded, smiled, and disappeared.

"What?" Ron muttered, staring intently at the now empty frame.

"All the passageways to Hogwarts have been blocked off," Aberforth informed him. Seconds later, the portrait of the girl started to come back into focus. But she wasn't alone.

"Neville!" Ron, Harry, and Hermione cried as a tall, bet-up figure jumped down from the frame.

"Hi Harry, Ron, Hermione." Neville hugged each of them, and then looked curiously at you. He knew better than to question your attendance, but his eyes yearned for information. "Hi."

You nodded politely.

"Thank you for all your help," Harry told Aberforth, and you, Ron and Hermione added on, shaking his hand and such. Aberforth grunted in reply.

"Oh, Ab," Neville said as the four of you began to climb into the portrait. "A few people might be apparating into the bar, just send 'em to us. Thanks." Aberforth scowled, but Neville beamed. You stepped over the mantleplace and through the frame.

It was like walking through a bubble. The surface stuck to your skin, and for a moment, you had no air. And then, your foot touched ground. Rocky, unstable ground. You glanced around. You were in what appeared to be an underground tunnel. Harry caught your eyes, and in that moment, he knew what you had to do. Your heart pounded as fast as you thought possible.

"Go," he said, crossing the tunnel. Harry grabbed you up in a hug. You grabbed onto the back of his jacket and buried your head in his shoulder.

"Good luck," you whispered in your ear. "I'll see you out there." You wondered if you would ever see him again and you felt like crying.

Harry ran a hand over your shoulder blades, and then released you. Hermione walked up and squeezed your hand.

"You've taught me more than I ever thought a Slytherin could," she murmured. She smiled, and then let go of your hand. "See you on the other side?"

You smiled weakly at the three people you never thought would be your friends. And then you left.


	58. Chapter 58

You didn't know what you would find at the end of the tunnel. It twisted and turned and became narrower as you ran further. The roots that hung from the ceiling began to disappear, and you could hear faint noise up ahead. It was voices, no doubt about that. But whose voices?

Students? Teachers? You felt your stomach drop. Could it be Death Eaters? Could they have found you out? You swallowed your nerves and plunged ahead, running faster and with more determination than before. None of it mattered, really. The Dark Lord was going to come to the school eventually, you had no doubt. As soon as Harry showed up, war would begin. If you died, a probable situation at this point, you didn't mind. Really, as long as you saw Draco, nothing could and would bother you.

You reached the end of the passageway. There was a small door, not much larger than the portrait you entered through, and made of thick oak. You pressed your ear to it, hoping to catch some of the conversation going on within. There was a roaring of voices, a swelling of laughter. There was more than one person inside.

"That's it, lads," a voice cried out. It was tinged with a thick Irish accent, and you recognized the voice of Seamus Finnigan, a Gryffindor. You looked to the ceiling, said a quick prayer, and then opened the door. You had hoped to be stealthy, opening the door without a sound and then slipping past the students within. However, as soon as you pushed open the door, it let out a loud squeak. You screwed up your eyes and winced as the chatter within came to a halt.

"Neville?" A girl's voice asked. "Is that you?"

You didn't answer, but merely stepped inside. You opened your eyes to see a room full of Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs of all ages, staring blankly at you. One girl leaned over to another and whispered something in her ear.

"What are you doing here?" A voice asked roughly. You saw Parvati Patil stand from a chair and walk up next to Seamus. She crossed her arms and glared.

"I think that's fairly obvious," Seamus said faintly, placing a hand on her arm. He pointed towards the cedar-planked ceiling. From one of the rafters, a huge, emerald green banner began to unfurl. It whisked down and straightened out. On the front was a snake painted silver, it's eyes deadly. The symbol of Slytherin. "She's here to fight."

There was a muttering in the room and everyone stared at you.

"No," you protested. "I'm not, really. I need to find someone."

"But, the room. It knows when someone's here, and what they're here for."

"I…" You look towards the banner. The Snake's fangs are bared, as if about to strike. "Sure. Okay. I'll fight. I hate the Death Eaters and I hate You-Know-Who. But before any of it, before anything happens, I need to find someone."

"You can't go out there," Seamus said, pointing towards the entrance of the room. "Snape's been patrolling the hallways all night. He's looking to catch a student out of bed."

"If you haven't noticed," you said sourly. "I haven't been a student here for quite some time now. I need to go, and if you even _think _about stopping me, I will curse you into oblivion. Alright?"

Parvati slipped her hand into Seamus's. He looked down at their palms, and then looked up at you. He looked at the banner above your head, and then nodded. You glared at the rest of the room, and then ran towards the entrance. You yanked open the door and stepped out.

"There's one," someone hissed. You whipped your head, looking for the speaker as the door slammed shut behind you. Before you could pull your wand out from your pocket, someone invisible had launched himself or herself at you.

"What the fuck?" You screamed as you tumbled backwards. You let out a screech of panic as the invisible attacker grabbed your hands and pinned them above your head as you began to lash out. "GET OFF ME!" You couldn't see it, but a hand covered your mouth, and you felt your heart begin to thud louder. You kicked your legs, but it was useless. Whoever had grabbed you was taller and stronger.

"Celia," someone whispered, and immediately, you froze. The hand left your mouth, and all the fight went out of your limbs.

"Draco," you whispered, reaching out your hands. You felt your hand connect with his shoulder. "Where are you? Let me see you." You felt his weight shift and he rolled off you. You sat up and intently watched the air in front of you, waiting for him to appear. There was a slight ripple in the air, and then that blonde hair appeared, then his forehead, then his eyes, and then his face, his shoulders, his arms, his torso, his legs, his feet. He was kneeling before you, his eyes wide.

"You're alive," he said quietly, hungrily looking over your face, as if you might disappear or leave at any moment. "I thought…I thought…"

You didn't say a word. You didn't have to. He understood what you wanted to say just by the expression in his eyes. You reached up and linked your arms around his neck, closing your eyes and burying them in his collarbone. You fit there, as if he had been sculpted just for you. You felt his heart beat against your neck. It seemed to be ages that the two of you sat there, entwined, not saying a word. Then, Draco released you, and leaned back. He reached out and framed your face with his hands. You let yourself melt into them, closing your eyes. It was right, all of it, even in a time of such uncertainty.

"I can't ever let you leave my sight again," he promised. "I'll do my nut, and that's a promise."

You pressed your lips against his and felt the electricity run through your bones, felt your joints shake.

"Me too." You run a hand down his face. "I..."

There was a grunt, and then you and Draco broke apart. No one was visible, but you could feel another presence.

"Goyle?" Draco said quietly, looking towards a stained glass window. You glanced around you for the first time and saw a tapestry of dancing hippos. You were on the 7th floor. You glanced back towards the wall where you had emerged. That room must've been the room of requirement. "What is it?"

"Potter," he said simply, pointing in the opposite direction. You saw the familiar black-haired figure, along with a blonde one, slipping around the corner. "You said he wuz yours."

"Draco?" You asked, looking towards him. "What's he talking about?"

He sighed, and took your hand in his, linking your fingers together. "I thought you were dead. I didn't know what Potter had done with you. He took you, after all. Everyone told me you were probably gone." Draco looked ashamed. "I can't even believe that I believed that. He loved you almost as much as I do. I flew into a rage, Celia. We were waiting here for Potter. We heard he would be in the castle tonight. I vowed to kill him before the Dark Lord could, or, at least, bring Potter to him. Then I planned to kill myself." When Draco finished, his hand was shaking in yours. You pressed the back of his hand against your leg, and he stopped shaking.

"You can't," you said simply. "You can't do anything to him. We're going to stand and fight, Draco. We have to."

Draco glanced up towards the emptiness that swallowed Goyle.

"Where's Crabbe?" he asked softly. Goyle snuffled.

"Dungeons. Had to get something before he came up here."

Draco turned back to you. "You have to trust me on this. I have to protect Potter now. I know you would want me to. Goyle will help, won't you, Goyle?"

Goyle grunted in agreement.

"Of course I'll trust you," you said. "But what about Crabbe?" Draco planted a kiss on your forehead.

"Don't worry about him," he re-assured you. "I need you to do me a favor. You need to get everyone out of that room. I have a feeling we're going to be needing it in a while."

You let yourself stare at him for another long moment, just drinking in the sight of him, before nodding. You leaned in and kissed him once more, softly but surely.

"I'll be back," you promised. "Don't worry about me," you added, because he had paled as you stood. "I won't be gone for long. I'll only be out of sight for a few minutes."

Draco kissed your knuckles, and then drew a wand from his pocket. You recognized it as Narcissa's, and remembered that Harry still had Draco's. He cast a disillusion spell on himself once more, and disappeared into your surroundings, blending into the castle wall behind him. You took a breath, and then began to walk back and forth before the blank wall, thinking hard. You needed to talk to the coup, their leader.

_I need to get to Seamus Finnigan, I need to get to Seamus Finnigan, I need to get to Seamus Finnigan. _The door did not appear.

"What's wrong?" You heard Draco ask.

You stopped pacing and bit your lip. "I'm not thinking correctly." Slowly, you began to pace again.

_I want to fight, I want to fight, I want to fight. _The door appeared at once, the golden handle gleaming. You smiled and pulled it open, to reveal a room of stony-faced students, all sitting in chairs around a table, where a piece of parchment was open. A familiar someone rose from her chair, her hair frazzled.

"Celia," Hermione exclaimed, wearing the maniacal expression she had before you broke into Gringotts. "You heard, then?"

"Heard what?" You asked stupidly, still standing in the entrance. You took a few tentative steps inside and sank down next to Hermione's chair. In front of her was a map of the castle.

"He's on his way," Ron croaked from his seat next to her. Everyone in the room stared at you as they had before. Stony-faced, unsure and apprehensive, like you were about to attack them all. Ron's sister, Ginny, gave you a look that conveyed she thought you were the equivalent to a bug smashed under the heel of her boot. Ron's older brothers instead smiled widely at you, and then you realized one of them was making snake tongues at you, flicking his tongue in between his teeth at a rapid place. You were still a loner, you realized. Lost in limbo. You didn't fit in with the two groups about to fight, one that you had betrayed, the other which didn't trust you. You felt like you were falling, but the thought of Draco's soft hands on yours made you realized that you weren't entirely alone. Not yet.

"Well then," you said in a shaky voice, standing taller. "We're going to fight as hard as we can, aren't we?"

The twins stopped making snake tongues, looked at each other, and then back to you. The one missing an ear smiled widely.

"Come on, then," Hermione said brusquely, bending over the map, ignoring the awkward silence that filled the room like an elephant.

Hermione sent you down to the Great Hall with the rest of the students. You had been the last to leave the room. You made sure it was empty, counting heads as everyone filed out. With one last sweep-over, you closed the door and made to follow the others down to the Great Hall. As you closed the door, you felt a hand brush against your wrist. No one was visible, but you knew Draco was there.

"I'll be back," you told him quietly. He didn't say a word, but squeezed your wrist the slightest bit, a re-assurance that you would come back, that he would see you again.

By the time you reached the Great Hall, the four tables were filled with students. You had no table to sit at, nowhere you fit in, and so you stood in the back of the room and watched as Professor McGonagall spoke to the school. She was more impassioned than you had ever seen her. Her hair was falling down from its tight bun; her eyes were blazing with glory.

"What's going on?" A voice asked. Harry emerged next to you, staring intently ahead. He tucked his invisibility cloak in his pocket.

"Rally cry," you whispered back, and he cracked a smile. "Really, though. She's rallying the older students."

There was a sudden cry through the hall, and you found yourself turning to look at the Slytherin table. Pansy was standing up, her finger pointed at Harry.

"But there he is now! Someone grab him!"

There was a mass movement through the hall. The Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs stood, their wands pointed at Pansy. You sidestepped in front of Harry, your wand raised in front of your chest. Everyone glared at her, and you cocked your head to the side, expressing your disappointment. She gaped, her mouth opening and closing wildly, and then looked around frantically, trying to convince fellow Slytherins.

"Miss Parkinson, you may leave the hall along with the rest of the Slytherins," Professor McGonagall said dryly. Pansy tossed her head and stood from the bench. She led the Slytherins towards the exit.

"What are you doing, Celia?" She asked when she saw you. Her eyes were wide, and saddened. She didn't greet you, didn't hug you, and didn't offer a hello.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" You replied. You stepped back next to Harry and placed a hand on his arm. "I'm staying. I'm going to fight." The Slytherins behind her began to mumble. Behind Pansy, a few people back, you could see Daphne, staring openly at you.

"Why?" Pansy asked, refusing to look at Harry.

"Because," you said simply. "For the first time, I'm doing something right, I'm doing something I want, not because someone told me to."

Pansy didn't reply. She just shook her head, and left, bringing up other Slytherins with her. Many glared at you as they passed, some spit at your feet. One, however, stepped away, to greet you.

"I don't know what I believe in," Daphne said hesitantly as she stepped out of the line. She looked at Harry, who nodded respectfully. "But I know you have a good reason for choosing this side. So, putting all my trust in friendship, I choose this side too."

The two of you hugged tightly, and you realized yet another student was stuck in limbo. The thin ties of love and friendship bonded the three of you.

"Hey wait," Harry shouted, running out the doors. Daphne released you.

"So…" she said. "What now?"

That's when you heard the first roar. It sounded far away, like it was in the forest, but close enough that you could feel the vibrations of the noise run through the soles of your trainers. Daphne blanched, and there was a rumble as the benches scraped back across the floor and hundreds of shoes began to slap against the tiles as the students ran out the doors.

"I think that's a clear answer," you said, a lump rising in your throat. The nerves of battle, of facing those you had once pledges alliance to, began to swell inside you. "Hey," you said, grabbing Daphne's arm as she made to leave. "Just in case…if anything happens…you're my best friend, you know that?"

She smiled in a sad way. "I'm not. Draco is." You dropped your hand from her wrist. "But I'll keep it in mind, Celia."

She ran after the hordes of other students, her wand out in front of her, her long hair dancing behind her like flames. You followed the students, streaming into their path, avoiding the masses of armor that had come forward, brandishing swords, axes, and other weapons. When the doors to the school opened, there came a nightmarish vision you had hoped never to see. Dozens upon dozens of Death Eaters, maybe even hundreds, were climbing the stairs to the school. Their faces were covered in the skeletal masks that seemed to mold to their very bones, and they raised their wands, shooting sinister spells into the air. You searched the oncoming group for the familiar white-blonde hair, searching for friends, rather than foe, but you were unable to spot the comforting color. You raised your wand and began to shoot spells back, into the crowd of Death Eaters, knocking them back one-by-one. You had successfully stunned one when you felt something collide with you for the second time that evening.

Fenrir Greyback had launched himself at you from the crowd. His nails were longer than you remembered, and flecks of blood stained his teeth. You felt your back slam into the ground, and he leered as he wrapped a hand around your neck. You choked as you felt the pipes constrict.

"A pretty little traitor," he wheezed, licking his lips. "Too bad I'm so hungry. I would've liked to see your throat stay intact." As he leaned towards your neck, panting, you managed to slip your wand from your pocket. You jabbed it into his ribs.

"." Greyback just smiled, and you felt his hand tighten around your windpipe. You struggled, but in the chaos, no one seemed to notice the danger you faced. You went limp for a moment, as if playing dead, and Greyback let you go, surprised. Taking advantage of the situation, you sat up, knocking him off you. It took all your courage, your strength, but then you uttered the spell you had long feared. "Avada Kedavra."

The green light hit him in the neck. You felt that it was ironic; giving how many throats he had feasted upon. Greyback fell over with a dull thump, You scrambled to your feet, refusing to look at the shell of the body as it was swallowed by the robes and feet that surrounding you. One person, however, seemed to see what you had done.

"I think the world's going to be a little better off now that he's gone," Neville Longbottom managed to say to you, before he threw a venomous looking plant into the Death Eater's path. It quickly sprouted five branches; all with sharply pointed tips, and plunged them through the abdomens of five Death Eaters running up the stairs. You turned your head away from the sight of the bodies, all bloodied, when something above your head shattered. The stained-glass window above the doors to the school had been broken. A giant was standing menacingly in front of the school, it's fist through the empty space where the window had been. It stood nearly thirteen stories high, and its foot was larger than a mini-van. You stumbled back, covering your head with your arms, dodging the shards of glass as they rained down. Suddenly, the giant roared and began to lift its arms, punching holes in the other windows of the floors above you. You watched as it grabbed someone of the fifth floor, shook him or her, and then tossed him or her over his or her shoulder, like a useless bit of trash. The poor person was impaled on the school statue outside the Quidditch field. You looked back up at the gargantuan fists attempting to seize people off upper floors and felt a pang of fear run through your heart. The giant had reached the Seventh floor. One thought ran through your mind. Draco.

You turned away from the battle and began to run, dashing up the stairs.

"Celia!" Daphne screamed as she shot a stunning spell at a death eater. "Where are you going?" You ignored her and ran up the hallway, skidding along a mirror. You kicked aside a tapestry that lead to a passageway and began to run up it, ending up on the sixth floor. You turned right, and then ran up the spiral staircase that lead to the seventh floor corridor.

When you flung open the door to the hall, the first thing you saw was glass everywhere. The giant had obviously reached its target. The windows were all gone, and the stonewalls were severely damaged. The first thing you smelled was smoke. The bitter, smothering scent was everywhere, clinging to the rubble, the bits of fabric stuck to the jagged stone. You began to trip over the rubble, calling out Draco's name, hoping that you weren't about to witness what you feared. He was lying on the ground when you turned the next corner. For a moment, you zeroed in on him and him alone. He was curled up in a ball, and he didn't move. But then, miraculously, he struggled onto his elbows and managed to vomit all over the floor.

"Oh god," you heard yourself say. You ran towards him, kneeling hard against the marble floor, and wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

"Celia," he said, surprised. His voice wheezed a little, as if he was having trouble conjuring the words. He wrapped his arms around you just as fiercely, and you smelled singed fabric, skin, and hair. You realized then that you weren't alone. Harry, Ron and Hermione were all gathered 'round, and Goyle was lying on the ground, unconscious.

Harry and Ron were clutching broomsticks, Hermione was sobbing silently, and around Harry's wrist was a charred tiara, which was leaking what looked like blood.

"Where's Crabbe?" You whispered, looking at the three of them, and then pulling back to look at Draco's face. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Harry cleared his throat.

"Crabbe," Draco said, but couldn't finish. His voice shook.

"He's dead," Ron said roughly. "I'd be quite sorry if he didn't try to kill us."

Draco didn't say anything, just placed his hands on your shoulders, as if you were keeping him grounded.

"Malfoy tried to stop him," was all Harry said. The three of them, the golden trio, looked down at you, and for a moment, they looked like they were glowing, almost like golden angels. And then they left, tossing the broomsticks in the corner.

"Are you alright?" You managed to ask. Draco didn't say a word. Instead, he just curled up again, his arms wrapping around his legs. He looked like a small, frightened child, and you thought you might cry. Instinctively, you reached out and pulled him closer to you. You stroked his hair and placed your cheek on top of his head, rocking slowly back and forth.

So Crabbe was dead. One of Draco's confidantes, one of his friends, was the first casualty. You didn't know whether to be sad or not, given that he had tried to kill Harry, Ron, and Hermione. You supposed that maybe you could grieve the boy who had been a friend to Draco, not the one who had committed such cruelty.

"This isn't what I had in mind for our reconciliation," Draco managed to say, sitting up. He spun you around, so your back was to him, and pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest.

"I don't think I planned on this either," you choked out, curling your arms around his. For a moment, just that split-second, it seemed as if everything was all right. You were safe. No one was dead; there were no battles, nothing but peace. That's when Draco suddenly perked up. He let go of you, and you nearly fell over. "What is it?" His face was screwed up, as if he was listening to something far off and distant.

"There's nothing," he said. "No screaming or anything. I think the fighting's stopped."

He pulled you to your feet, and you cautiously approached the open space where the window used to be. Outside, bodies littered the grounds, their guts spilling out over the grass, limbs scattered here and there. Blood ran like rivers over the little hills of the courtyard. But sure enough, Draco was right. There was no more fighting. You could see the Death Eaters retreating, the dark figures running off into the night.

But then, the noise came. And it was a thousand times worse than you had imagined.

"You have fought bravely. That bravery is admirable." Voldemort's voice sounded out through the castle, as if he was standing in the Great Hall, speaking to the students. You nearly fell over with fear, and Draco stooped to catch you before you hit the floor. "But we outnumber you. We have killed many of you. Our numbers remain strong, while yours are dying off. I have one request. Bring me Harry Potter. Bring him to me, and you will remain safe. If not, I myself will enter the castle and kill every man, woman, and child that protected him. You have one hour."

The sound after wrenched at your insides, as if someone was twisting them tightly. There were groans of pains, shouts, sobbing and cries of fear. You turned to Draco and stroked his cheek. He winced, and for the first time, you realized a large cut above his eyebrow, which had sprung open and begun to bleed.

"Let's get you downstairs," you said, ripping off a thin sheet of your shirt. You pressed it to the wound to staunch the bleeding. "There will be medical treatment there, I'm sure."

"But," Draco said, and he sounded dazed. "What about Potter?" You didn't answer. You didn't want to think about what would happen to him.

The Great Hall, as you had predicted, was filled with people. There wasn't enough room for all the injured, so they lay on tables, on benches, even on the floor. You lead Draco over to the end of one table, and grabbed out at Madam Promfrey as she passed.

"I'm sorry, dear." She said, looking at Draco. "But there's simply more serious injuries I have to deal with right now." She looked sideways at his cut, and then bustled off to help a young girl, whose leg looked like it was chewed off at the knee.

"I'm fine," Draco said, waving the bloody cloth in the air, and then pressing it back to his forehead. But then you stopped listening, even as he began to mutter something. Someone had caught your eye. Many groups of people were gathered around their loved ones, dead or alive, crying or hugging or whispering. There was one body that stood alone. In the middle of the Grand Staircase was the willowy frame you knew all too well. You walked away from Draco, silently ignoring him, and towards the body on the floor.

She was facedown, and her hair was fanned out across her shoulders, like a silken pillow. Slowly, you reached down and grabbed her shoulder. You yanked upwards and turned her over. Daphne's blank, dead eyes stared back at you. There was no blood on her face, her limbs were intact. You told yourself that she had died quickly, that she had felt no pain. You repeated it as a mantra as you sank down by her side and began to cry. You smoothed back her hair from her face and tucked it behind her ears. You remembered that was how she liked to wear it, because she said it made her face look thinner. You let out a small howl of pain, like an animal. She was dead, that lovely friend of yours. The one who had truly stuck with you, to the very end. You felt hatred rise in your bones. You wanted nothing more than to lash out, to fight and kill the people who had done this to her.

At first, when the hand came down on your shoulder, you thought it was Draco, there to comfort you, to pay his respects to Daphne. But you looked up to see Harry, looking down at you with sad eyes.

"Harry," you said, not stopping the tears that ran down your neck. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he answered. "I just…I came to see what happened down here." You nodded, and then looked back to Daphne's body. You rocked back and forth a little bit, trying to calm yourself down. Harry crouched down next to you.

"Can I ask you a favor?" He asked, trying to get your attention.

"Yeah," you whispered, not really paying attention.

"If…if I'm gone a while…if I'm late coming back, you have to do something."

"Where are you going?" You immediately asked, panicking. "You're not turning yourself in? We need you. I need you." Harry patted your arm.

"'Course not," he said. "But Celia, when Voldemort comes…you have to kill the snake. Okay? If Ron and Hermione…" He let his voice drift off as he looked from you to Daphne's body. He couldn't let himself think that way, feel how you did.

"Kill the snake. Kill Naigini," you repeated.

"Yes," he whispered. Harry stood, and took his Invisibility Cloak from his pocket. He looked once more at Daphne. "She loaned me some powdered bicorn horn in potions once."

It was a pathetic memory, really, but it made all the difference as he disappeared. The girl who never stopped giving, even if she was a Slytherin. She gave her love, friendship, and she was killed for it. You sat there for what seemed to be hours, until you heard Draco speak.

"I thought you would've liked to be alone with her for a while," he murmured quietly. You sniffled, and then pulled yourself up on his arm.

"It was my fault," you confided in him. "She only fought because I said I was going to. She died because of me."

"She died because someone evil killed her," Draco argued. "You're not responsible, Celia. Don't think that way." You didn't answer, but nodded. But in your heart, you still felt guilty. Draco wrapped an arm around your shoulder and kissed your temple. He was quiet for a moment before saying:

"She cheered us on from the beginning, you know. Even when I was with Pansy. You know she told me in our second year that she wanted to see us get married some day."

"And here we are," you said, your voice somewhat bitter. "She didn't live to see it."

"Maybe she will," Draco replied. He nodded towards the ceiling, towards the heavens that extended above you. You wrapped an arm around his waist. "We should move her." You nodded, looking around the hall. You didn't want her to be surrounded by the ugliness, the blood and battle garb that consumed the stairs and the Hall. You and Draco tenderly lifted her up, reaching under her arms, and carried her into the adjoining corridor. You laid her body down as softly as you could manage, and felt one more tear slip from your eye. You tucked her hair back once more, and then turned away from her body.

"Let's go," you muttered to Draco, unable to look at Daphne's body for a second longer. The two of you moved away from the body, as if you were reluctant to let go, but then, the sound of a sinister voice had you running.

"Harry Potter is dead," Voldemort's voice proclaimed, again, echoing through the castle. You and Draco ran through the doors of the school, where people were assembling on the grounds. Voldemort was visible in the courtyard, Death Eaters surrounding him, a limp figure at his feet. "Killed as he was trying to run away, trying to save himself."

"No!"

"NO."

"Nooooo!" Terrible screams ran through the air, and people began to collapse, unable to deal with the emotional blows. You ran through them, trampling over hands and feet to get to the front. You found yourself standing next to Ron and Hermione, who was sobbing uncontrollably.

"We are the victorious army," Voldemort continued, as if he couldn't hear the interruptions. "We have conquered you. We killed Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived."

"He beat you," Ron suddenly burst out, and there were yells of encouragement and agreement. You stared at Harry's body, too stunned to agree. You had just talked to him minutes ago…the yells were quickly stifled, and silence fell. You looked up and realized that Voldemort's gaze had zeroed in on you. His nostrils flared dangerously.

"Celia Validus," he said, and you felt your body being drawn towards him, almost magnetically. You dug your heels into the ground, trying to stop, but you knew your efforts were fruitless. You saw two Death Eaters move forward, but another stopped them. Narcissa and Lucius were frozen, unable to get to you. "Well, well, well. Look at this." You didn't say anything. Voldemort circled you, breathing heavily. He came around to your face, and then stopped. He looked back towards the crowd, which was restrained by his magic. You could see Draco out of the corner of your eye, struggling to get to you. "You have nerve, girl. Betraying us, betraying me. Nerve is a trait more Hogwarts students could use, wouldn't you say?"

You closed your eyes as his cat-like, red ones danced in front of you.

"I'll give you one last chance," he said loudly. "Join us, or die, like Potter."

"No!" You said loudly, so the crowd could hear you. "I will never join you again. He died with love in his heart, a death much nobler than yours will ever be." You didn't look him in the eye as you said this, but rather, at the cage that hung above his shoulder, where Naigini curled up. She hissed at you.

"Fine," Voldemort said curtly. He raised his wand in the air, and you heard the shattering of glass. "Miss Validus here has just volunteered to demonstrate what will happen to people who don't obey me." Voldemort caught an object in his hands, and then straightened it out. You recognized it as the Sorting Hat. He shook it, and then placed it over your head. Immediately, it began to whisper to you, it words running alongside Voldemorts.

"At Hogwarts, we will have no houses."

_When you were eleven, you were supposed to be sorted into Gryffindor._

"Houses create unnecessary conflict."

_Your love for Draco Malfoy overruled that sorting, and you were placed in Slytherin, alongside him._

"Now, there will only be one house. The house of my great Ancestor, Salazar Slytherin."

_A true Gryffindor at heart._

There was a scream before you realized what was happening. Then you heard the sound of flames engulfing the hat, gobbling at the material. You struggled, but your limbs were paralyzed by Voldemort's spell. Surely, the flames would consume you. This was it.

And then, you felt something heavy pinch the top of your hat. The spell upon you broke, and something heavy fell onto your head. You moved out from under the hat, and drew from its depths, the blade of Gryffindor; the very same Griphook had stolen from Harry. You looked up at Naigini, and then down at the blade. You raised it, and then quickly brought it down, severing her head from her body. Naigini's head flew through the air, and you heard Voldemort shriek loudly. You gripped the sword tightly and ran through the crowd, terrified of looking back. You stormed into the castle among the other students, searching for Draco. But in the masses, all fighting to the death, you couldn't spot him. You called for him, slashing and stabbing through the enemy with all the strength you could muster. When the crowd parted, for a split-second, you saw him. You ran to him, dragging the sword along with you. You looped your arms around his neck, not caring if you were about to be killed, because you had escaped death so many times, and this was all you needed.

But it didn't seem to be a problem. You two were not the center of attention.

"Look," Draco said quietly, lifting your arms off his neck. He nodded towards the center of the hall. Harry and Voldemort were circling each other, like a cat and mouse, speaking quietly. You strained to hear the words, but Voldemort's voice was so soft and dangerous that it just sounded like soft hissing. Harry let out a booming laugh, and you felt the entire hall lean back, astounded, and then leaned back in, anxious to hear more.

But there were no more words to be said.

Voldemort and Harry cast their spells at the same time. One beam of red light, one beam of green. They connected in the middle of the space that separated Harry and Voldemort, and the light let out sparks and glowed as the spells collided. Then, the light all rushed towards Voldemort and hit him directly in the chest. Voldemort's wand spun across the room as he fell to the ground. Harry caught the wand in his free hand, and then looked down at Voldemort's body. There was a moment of silence, and then shouts and yells of joy. Everyone rushed past you and Draco, anxious to get to the boy who lived, the one who had ended it all.

In the midst of the chaos that surrounded you, Draco took your hand.

"Maybe," he said quietly in your ear. "Maybe we can just pretend these last hours haven't really happened, yeah?"

"Yeah." You nuzzled your face into his neck as the two of you stood alone, quite apart from the mass of cheering spectators. "I think I would like that." The two of you linked fingers and stepped towards your peers, ready to start a new life.


	59. Epilogue

Two Years Later:

Sunday mornings were your favorite. It always seemed that the sun was shining, even in London, which would be the rarest of occasions.

One bright May morning, you awoke to the touch of fingers brushing against your cheek. Your eyes flickered open and you saw Draco, lying next to you, his fingertips fluttering over your cheekbones. You didn't say anything, but merely rolled over onto your side, so you could look him in the eye properly.

"Morning," he said finally, after a few minutes.

You smiled in reply.

"Your hair is sticking up," you replied, reaching out to brush down the smooth, blonde strands. Draco shook his hair back, but you ran your fingers through his hair anyway.

"I think we have the nicest hair out of anyone in our neighborhood," Draco responded, reaching out to rub a strand of your golden locks between his fingers. You smiled.

"Come on, then," you teased him. "Just admit it, we're the best looking couple in the neighborhood. Probably the city."

"Well, if you want to dream small," Draco smirked. He leaned over you and began to kiss your collarbone in a persuasive manner. You smirked as well, and grabbed a fistful of his hair, so you could bring his eyes up to yours.

"I have to get going," you told him, kissing him on the lips. He didn't reply, but just brought his hands up, cradling the back of your neck as he kissed you. His tongue traced around the corner of your lips, and you felt like you might just skip on your outing, and instead, spend the day in bed.

"But Mrs. Malfoy," he said in a low, husky voice, kissing down your neck. You giggled. "It's just you and me here, and your skin is just so soft…"

"Stop," you squealed, slipping out from under him. You laughed as you ran into the bathroom, shaking off your nightgown and jumping into the shower.

"You didn't think you were going to get away that easily, did you?" Draco grinned as he ran after you. He pulled off his boxers and jumped in the shower with you. You laughed as he reeled you in towards him, and the two of you fell against the side of the shower, a human pretzel of limbs.

An hour later, you apparated into the Leaky Cauldron. Your hair was still a bit wet, and your make-up was slightly sloppy, but you couldn't care less. You smiled as the innkeeper greeted you heartily.

"Celia!" Neville Longbottom said from behind the counter. "I haven't seen you in a few weeks."

"Honeymoons will do that," you said with a grin.

Neville winked. "The regular? Tea with one lump of sugar? No cream?"

"Two lumps," you corrected. "Is he here?"

Neville peered around, and then spotted who you were looking for. He pointed towards a corner, where a dark-haired man sat at a booth. You weaved through the tables full of people, and then slid into the seat opposite the dark-haired man.

"You're late," Harry said, but his voice was teasing.

"Sorry boss," you replied, taking off your jacket. "I didn't realize this was a work day."

Harry winced. "I hate when you call me boss."

"What am I supposed to say? You _are _my boss."

"Doesn't feel like it sometimes," Harry said. "Mind and will of your own."

"So," you said as Neville placed a cup of tea down in front of you. You wrapped your hands around the mug. "When's that brief on the Carson case due?"

"Let's not talk work," Harry said in a tired voice. "Really, I'm so bored of it. Tell me about your honeymoon. How was…St. Thomas?"

"St. Bart's," you corrected. "And I'll tell you about it when you tell me how Gigi's doing."

Harry blushed at the mention of his girlfriend. "I'm going to propose tonight."

"Harry!" You squealed, hitting him on the arm. "That's really, really amazing. Congratulations."

"Yeah, well," he said with an expression of smugness that you saw often in Draco. You leaned back against the booth and smiled at him.

"Look at us," you mused. "All grown up with places to go."

"People to see."

"Things to do."

The two of you chuckled lightly, and then fell silent. The two of you drummed your fingers on the tabletop, not quite about to say what the other was thinking. Finally, you did.

"It's May eighth," Harry said quietly.

"Yeah…" You looked down at your hands. When you looked up, Harry was staring the wall, determined not to look at your eyes. You feared he might cry. "We lost so many people that day."

"I don't think we ever really lost them." Harry leaned over and squeezed your hand. "In fact, I know we didn't. Not really."

"How?" You whispered back. You thought of Daphne's body lying on the ground, so cold and motionless.

"Just trust me," Harry said, leaning back. "The Hallows don't lie."

You were confused by this statement, being oblivious to what the Hallows were, but you decided to trust him.

When you and Harry left the Leaky Cauldron early in the afternoon, Draco was waiting for you across the street. He and Harry didn't greet each other, not formally anyway, just nodded at each other. You knew that while they would never be friends, they had respect for each other.

"See you tomorrow, Celia," Harry told you, touching your elbow. He departed down the street, his hands in his pockets. You ran across the street to Draco, who folded you up in his arms instantly.

"Hi," you said with a smile. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought you might want someone to go with you." Draco kissed your cheek. "To…to see Daphne."

He knew that on certain days, you snuck away to go lay a bunch of flowers on her grave. You tucked an arm around his waist and looked up at the sky, bursting with sunlight.

"I don't think I'm going to go there today," you told him. "I don't need to say goodbye. Not when they still live on."

Draco nodded, but you knew he couldn't truly understand. You took his hand, curled it into a fist, and placed it on your heart.

"In here," you whispered. Draco smoothed back your hair.

"Whatever happens," he said, kissing you softly. "If anything ever does, I need you to know this. You're my best friend, the love of my life, my soul mate. I will always carry you with me." Then, he placed your hand upon his heart. Your wedding ring glittered in the bright light.

"Ditto," you replied. Draco hooked his arm around your neck, and you looped your arm around his waist, and the two of you began to walk home.


End file.
